Sons of the Sign
by Brandyllyn
Summary: On a mission for the king, the three Musketeers encounter a new threat that might come from within their own ranks, and with the help of a stranger, might defeat it. AthosOFC. Rated M for Chapters 9 & 15 and a bit of language.
1. Dead Men Tell No Tales

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents._

_Author's Note: This is based on the actual book by Alexandre Dumas, _not_ any of the movies. Also, this was/is my first fanfiction. It's not great, I've made some mistakes and done some things with these characters I'm not too proud of. However, I still honestly believe that overall it is a good piece. Snark or flame as you'd like, but I'm already well aware of what's wrong with it and will not be changing it._

**

* * *

Chapter 1: Dead Men Tell No Tales**

"Mon Dieu!"

_(In order to keep things simple the author refuses to write the remainder of the story in French seeing as this is the limit of her knowledge of it anyway. She apologizes to all of you purists out there, but that's life and it's not fair, get over it)  
_  
"Don't take the Lord's name in vain Porthos."

"But it's freezing out here! I think I've been unmanned. Don't laugh Aramis, I'm serious, I'll never function again."

"I'm sure the Lord is enthralled by your inadequacies in the bedchamber, however it would make me feel better if you had a bit more respect for Him."

"At least we could have brought our servants, they always seem to know things about how to survive in situations where life's little amenities are unavailable." At Aramis' exasperated expression, Porthos shook his head. "You know what your problem is Aramis, you're too stuffy. You have no sense of fun, adventure. You're about the least musketeerish Musketeer I have ever met."

"Musketeerish? Is that even a word? I think you just made that up."

"Well hell, if I want to make up words that's my own business isn't it?"

"Excuse me ladies, but could you keep the noise down just a bit? We are supposed to be spying."

Aramis and Porthos glared for a moment at their mutual friend, Athos didn't seem to notice however. His attention was focused ahead of him on the group of men in the road. Lacking divine intervention, there was little chance of the men themselves hearing them, seeing as they were all dead, but one never knew who might happen along at any unsuspecting moment. Athos thought idly to himself that Musketeers were not really made for spying. Their entire purpose in life revolved around their valiant bravery and unflinching determination. Asking a Musketeer to spy was a bit like asking an elephant to perform ballet. It seemed like a good idea at the time but...

"Athos."

"What?"

"Why are we watching dead people?"

Athos turned to his rakish friend. Porthos, he was certain, had many noteworthy qualities to recommend him to the fairer sex, but his unwavering stupidity seemed as though it should put a bit of a damper on his attractive forces. Men wanted women of less than average intelligence, this was true, it kept them from questioning their mate's wishes, but a woman would certainly prefer a man of something resembling thought. Porthos however, was often quite devoid of that particular characteristic, and yet had legions of nubile women, young and old, clamoring for his attention; and had even managed to land himself a bride of some wealth, for however short a time. Ah well, life wasn't fair was it?

"If someone goes through the trouble to hang people, they usually want to come back at some point to either gloat, or to reuse a place. Trees of sufficient height for this particular brand of fun are few and far between my friend."

"Oh."

There was a moment's pause.

"Athos."

"Yes?" This time the query was snapped.

"Why would someone hang a peasant?"

And therein lay the crux of the matter. Why indeed? A peasant, especially one from as remote a village as Chapelle Mansounx posed little threat to anyone, including his neighbors. So why the mass murder, if indeed it was murder and not justice. The local authorities didn't even seem to know who the men were.

"That's why we're here Porthos, to find out. Do pay attention when we're given these assignments, I hate having to repeat everything to you."

At this, Porthos collapsed back against the tree trunk in a sullen pout. Aramis grinned to himself, at least Athos wasn't taking that bitter sarcastical tone with him. He loved his fellow Musketeer like a brother, but sometimes, he could be a little grating. The wallowing in self-pity didn't help his personality at all either. He still blamed himself for his wife's deception of him, despite her numerous forays into fraud, not to mention she was simply one messed up piece of femininity. Stealing from our holy mother Church, it didn't bear thought. Well, and the fact that she was a murderess, but that ran a close second in Aramis' viewpoint. He was left to a few moments of his quiet reflection before something else caught his attention.

"Athos, back in the trees!"

One lone rider sat watching the bodies swing to and fore. Unlike the Musketeers, however, they were making no move to keep hidden. They didn't need to. Between a hooded cloak and a cloudy night that veiled that moon and left the world in shadows, the figure on the horse could have been anyone.

"Porthos!" Aramis' plea was a furtive whisper to the man still pouting near the tree.

"What?" He was still pouting, and rather like wading in his own emotion.

"Go around and see if you can't get a better look at whoever that is."

"Why do I always have to be the one to go see who the stranger on the horse?"

"When have we ever asked you to go see who the stranger on the horse was?" Aramis sounded confused, and rightly so.

"Never mind," Athos resigned voice broke in, "they're leaving. Porthos, I'm sorry you're always the one, but follow him. If he has anything to do with this, we'll need to know, send us a message in two days, telling us your situation."

"Ugh, provincials. You'd think that you could find dead bodies in a place a little closer to civilization, but no, you insist on dragging me out to the farthest reaches of France to solve crimes I personally have no interest in."

"We have a duty to the people Porthos."

"People be damned, my duty is to crown and county and God, in that order my friend."

When Athos just gave him a long look, Porthos heaved himself onto his horse with a sigh. Did Aramis actually get some kind of perverse joy in baiting him? Self-righteous prig. Oo Aramis, you write poetry, oo! Women were easily susceptible to that garbage he spat at them. A real man wouldn't need to resort to a woman's mind to get ahead in life. A real man had skills. Aramis' only skill was his sly tongue. Perhaps that explained it. However, you'd think his utter obsession with the church and his entrance into the clergy would be a major turn-off. Porthos was pulled out of silent reverie by the sight of the rider ahead of him.

Follow the rider Porthos, don't let him get away Porthos, shine my shoes Porthos, wipe my ass Porthos, damn them and damn their orders. Just because he wasn't the smartest didn't mean he didn't have skills. Ah well, he was the goofy sidekick and that's all there was to it, he supposed. At least he could herd chickens like nobody's business.

"Do you think he can handle it?" Athos looked questioningly at Aramis.

"He's a big boy, he'll be fine. Come on, let's see if we can't find out something in the village."

Aramis heaved a long sigh, but let his friend walk away without comment.

Their arrival in the village was treated as an excuse for a holiday. They were treated to delicacies from all over the district and young virgins openly pined for them. Yeah, wouldn't that be nice. Certainly preferable to people running and hiding from them as they came in sight and mothers shepherding their children away. They were treated like lepers, and thought themselves lucky that no one threw rotten food at them. Well, with the lives these people had, even rotten food would be too precious to waste on a couple of Musketeers. It was sickening the level of poverty these people lived in. They had barely enough food to feed their families and their homes were little more than hovels. But they looked happy, which is considerably more than could be said for most denizens of Paris.

"That inn looks promising." Athos pointed as he spoke.

"Wherever," Aramis shivered closer into his cloak, "horses are nice enough creatures in and of themselves, I suppose, but I'm not thrilled to be on one for more than I need to."

Athos laughed as they handed their reigns to a boy of about twelve and entered the inn, aptly named "The Drunken a o " It wasn't really important what the missing letters were since most of its inhabitants were unable to write their own names, nevertheless read an entire phrase. The two Musketeers were a bit curious to know, however, just what a "a o " was.

"It's a matter of principle goodman," Aramis was attempting to coerce the servingman, "one would not wish to do one's drinking in 'The Drunken Bastard' or 'The Drunken Man who becomes an ass when inebriated'. You can surely see what I mean." At the man's blank stare, Aramis sighed and order a pint of ale apiece for him and Athos.

"Well distinguished leader?"

"What do you want Aramis?"

"I want to know why you sent Porthos off on a fool's errand, why we're in a taproom with no name, and why you've become so secretive all of the sudden. Well, more secretive, anyway. You've known since we got here who killed hose men, or at least had a damn good idea, so come out with it, why are we here?"

Athos shot a quick look around the bar for a moment, before leaning in a bit closer to Aramis. "Do you remember when the Cardinal made the last attempt on the throne, trying to denounce the queen?"

"Of course, that's when we met d'Artagnan."

"Do you remember what our informant looked like?"

"Small, rather rat-faced, dark hair? Him?"

"Yes." Athos looked around furtively, then leaned closer to Aramis and dropped his voice to a low murmur, "You weren't around for the interrogation, but when we did, we found a mark on the back of his neck." Athos dipped a finger in his mug, then traced a figure onto the dirt- encrusted table. It was an outline of a triangle standing on its point, with three lines starting in the center and continuing through each side.

"A tattoo?"

"No, it was a brand."

It looked strangely familiar to Aramis and he said so.

"It should," Athos continued, "every one of those men we found on the road had it carved onto his palm."

"Do you think they were working with the rat?"

"No, the marks were put there after they died."

"How can you tell that?"

"Because after the heart stops pumping blood, a man won't bleed, at least not much, those marks on their palms were virtually clean, no blood; they were put there after the men died- as a caution, or maybe a mark of pride."

"I still don't understand where Porthos comes into all this."

"Hear me out. I didn't understand the significance of the tattoo on the rat when I saw it, but the marks on the men were different, not much, lines a little longer, more curved, but it was enough to jog my memory. You know that tattoo Porthos has between his shoulder blades? It's a silhouette of a falcon over a-"

"A triangle." Aramis finished in a shocked voice.

"Yes!" Athos drew anther quick picture, "Take the principle lines, head to tail and both wings, and you have the same mark."

Aramis sighed as he sat back in his chair, nearly capsizing it seeing as the carpentry really wasn't all that great, "You're making a serious accusation against someone we've known for years on some pretty circumstantial evidence Athos."

"But what if I'm right, can we really afford to take the chance?"

"He's a Musketeer for Christ's sake!" Aramis exploded, then immediately regretted it as he crossed himself and said a quick prayer for forgiveness. His voice dropped to a whisper, "We protect people, Athos, we don't kill them. Not without just cause."

"You heard him back there, his loyalties are to crown, country, and God."

"Alright, I admit he's been acting strangely, I just think you need a bit more evidence, that's all."

"Well, let's just see what he reports back with."

"Let's."


	2. Confrontation on the North Road

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents._

**  
Chapter 2: Confrontation on the North Road**  
  
Porthos was tired. Damn tired to be specific. The mysterious rider must have had an urge to leave the country, for they'd left the borders of France nearly a week ago; at least, Porthos was rather certain they had. He could tell you the location of his ship in the middle of an ocean on a stormy night, but on land, he'd be lucky to point you north. The man was a demon, he'd give him that. They'd been traveling for nearly three weeks and he'd yet to stop for more than a time sufficient enough for his horse to sleep, and never in town. Porthos' own horse was becoming rather irate with him, he was pretty sure the animal did not appreciate the pace they were keeping.  
  
It took nearly four days for Porthos to reluctantly admit that he was really the only person with enough skills to follow the rider. His life before becoming a Musketeer had taught him skills in sneaking that his two friends noticeably lacked. Had either of them followed, they would have been found out the first day. As it was, the way they traveled, mainly on small winding trails in the backwaters of the forest, did not lend itself to easy stalking. As it was, Porthos hadn't had an opportunity to sneak close enough to get a good look at the rider who kept his hood up for the entirety of the three weeks.  
  
Porthos was so lost in thought it took him a moment to realize that if he rode any farther, he'd pass the rider. He reined his horse in quickly and backed off the road into the brush. The rider had stopped, his hood around his face, nothing different about that, and seemed to be waiting on something. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he was waiting on when another man with light blonde hair rode forward to meet him. They seemed to be having an argument of some sort, but Porthos couldn't make out the words. The blonde man seemed very upset with the rider and little wonder. Porthos wasn't terribly fond of the man himself. It was purely and arbitrary decision on his part of course, he didn't even know him, but Porthos was grumpy and hadn't had a good night's rest in nearly a month, he certainly wasn't feeling magnanimous.  
  
He watched the blonde man ride away and waited for the rider to move on. So it came as a complete shock when the man turned and spoke in loud voice, "You might as well come out, I know you're there."  
  
Porthos nearly fell off his horse.  
  
"Monsieur, you've been following me for nearly the breadth of my journey, and I do not appreciate being spied upon. Show yourself."  
  
Porthos didn't move.  
  
"Fine." The rider reached over his shoulder to a quiver of arrows that had lain concealed under his cloak and drew a bow from his saddle bags. The bow was folded in half and Porthos watched in fascination as the man unfolded it and pinned the pieces in place. He was pretty sure a bow like that was illegal, he'd have to check. He wasn't very worried about the archer. If the man really knew Porthos was there, he'd have called out to him long ago, wouldn't he?  
  
Porthos watched in horror as the man drew fletching to his cheek and released, landing an arrow not six inches from Porthos' face.  
  
"Next time will not be a warning monsieur."  
  
Porthos eased his mount out into the open sunshine.  
  
"Now, let's start simple, your name monsieur." He backed his question up with the threat of another arrow, already drawn and waiting.  
  
"Athos." He was rather proud he managed that without a stutter.  
  
"Well, Athos, why have you been following me?" The voice sounded unnaturally gruff to him but he ignored it.  
  
"What makes you think I've been following you?"  
  
The rider snorted a breath of laughter. "You're not serious? You've been on my tail since Chapelle Mansounx. You're not a very good tracker, did you know that?"  
  
Porthos was slightly offended by the man's abrupt dismissal of his talents but kept it to himself, "Why were you so interested in those bodies?"  
  
The man lowered his bow and looked at him thoughtfully. "I would think that would be obvious to man of your talents."  
  
Porthos wasn't sure whether the man was making fun of him or not, so he assumed he was, it was a flaw he had. Always assume the worst. "I have yet to hear your name neighbor," he reminded him.  
  
"Louis."  
  
"Louis?" He must have sounded incredulous because the man raised his bow again.  
  
"Do you wish to comment on my choice of name?"  
  
"No, no," Porthos held up his hands, "wouldn't dream of commenting. You have a very persuasive friend there." He motioned at the bow. The man laughed softly. "I am positively certain it's not your real name though, so don't be offended if I don't call you by it."  
  
"How did you know that?"  
  
"I didn't, but I do now." He looked around for a moment, "Were you going anywhere in particular, or was this your final destination?"  
  
The man cocked his head a bit and looked at him. At least he thought he did, the rider still had his damn hood up, putting his face in shadow. Then he held up his hands in apparent surrender, made ludicrous by the bow he was still holding. "I had planned on a journey to Paris now, do you intend to follow me there?"  
  
Porthos couldn't help but smile. The whole situation was a bit improbable. Well, since the man was asking, "Of course, but how quickly are we talking here? I was supposed to report on you quite a while back, but you haven't really given me a chance."  
  
"Where is your message going?"  
  
"Um, Paris actually." He paused a moment, then grinned rather sheepishly, "We'll get there before the message at the rate you travel won't we?" At the rider's nod he sighed. "Oh, well, in that case... You know, we shouldn't be this friendly."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry." The man pulled fletching to cheek, "Where would you like me to injure you?"  
  
"How about I fetch your other arrow and we'll come up with some suitable story for this when we reach civilization?"  
  
The man lowered his bow and unpinned it, stowing it in his saddle in one swift motion, "Sounds good to me."  
  
When Porthos returned, the man took the arrow from him and Porthos got his first good look at the rider. The cloak was a dark green and he wore brown pants. His shirt might once have been white, but the color was closer to cream now. Riding gloves in a green similar to the cloak and bordered in silver covered and protected his hands. His face was still in shadow, but Porthos thought he could see a fringe of blonde hair. An overcoat of undyed wool in a craggy shade of grey protected him from the elements. As if he needed protection with that damnable cloak. His horse was a grey gelding who kept trying to take a bite out of Porthos' thigh. Porthos didn't know much about horses, but the man's animal looked like a prime piece of horseflesh.  
  
"I thank you sir, for the return of my arrow."  
  
Porthos bowed in his saddle, "My pleasure." He looked back down the road, "Um, not to sound disparaging as to your skills, but which way is Paris?"  
  
The rider smiled and gestured to the left, "About four leagues that way."  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"It only took me so long to get here because I had to go nearly a two weeks out of my way just to see whether you were really following me. You could have saved us both a lot of time if you'd simply announced your presence from the beginning."  
  
"Ethics, my good man, ethics; never reveal yourself if you're spying."  
  
"Good motto."  
  
"I like to think so."  
  
"And from whom did you learn these skill my new friend?"  
  
"The Aztec king Montezuma taught me as a twentieth birthday present."  
  
"Is that so?"  
  
"On pain of death my friend, I swear it to be true."  
  
The man bowed his head in agreement.  
  
Porthos look in the direction the rider had pointed, "Four leagues? That's less than a day's ride."  
  
"Unnerving isn't it?"  
  
Porthos nodded, "To say the least."  
  
The rider looked around for a moment as if expecting the blonde man to ride up at any moment, "Well Athos, shall we be off?"  
  
It took Porthos a long second to figure out who he was talking to. "Yes, shall we?" Porthos silently kicked himself for his lapse. Then cursed out loud himself for giving out Athos' name instead of something more generic. Athos' would never let him live it down. He didn't notice the rider's appreciative nod at his colorful use of the French language, amongst others. When Porthos swore, no boundaries of country or culture could stop him.  
  
It would take the better part of the day to reach Paris at the rate they went, mainly because the man insisted on walking beside his horse, and after hearing Porthos was still on the steed he had started with, insisted he do the same. It gave Porthos a chance to learn more about the mysterious man. Grudgingly, Porthos was forced to admit he rather admired him. He obviously cared for his horse, and seemed extremely nonchalant about traveling with a complete stranger. And had been doing so for weeks. Porthos was a little less thrilled about that. He didn't particularly like be lead along. He was sheep that's what he was, a damn sheep.  
  
Porthos' mood had become progressively darker and his mood change was not lost on his companion. He began to edge away on the road and glanced at him frequently from under his hood.  
  
"Don't you dare blame me."  
  
Porthos' head whipped up, "Excuse me?"  
  
"I can see what's going through your head, it's written across your face plain as day. You're wanting to blame me for leading you weeks out of your way when you didn't have to."  
  
"Well didn't you?"  
  
"Despite our recent fraternity, you were still following me, and I have yet to receive a valid reason for it."  
  
"My reasons are none of your business."  
  
The rider stopped, "Then find your own way to Paris."  
  
Porthos stopped as well. "It's not this direction?"  
  
The rider cocked his head to the side, "Do you want to risk it?"  
  
Porthos sighed, but realized the man did have a valid point in wanting his reasons. "We were investigating the murder of those men in Chapelle Mansounx. You came along the road and watched them swing without batting so much as an eyelash, it seemed a bit suspicious so I was sent to follow you."  
  
"So a rider comes across a slew of bodies on the road and stops to pay his respects then rides away, and this warrants investigation?"  
  
"Well when you look at it that way..."  
  
"And these friends of yours, you've known them long?"  
  
"Nearly my entire adult life- What are you getting at?"  
  
"Nothing. It just seems that following me seems a pretty flimsy reason to get rid of you. I'm not a threat, nor did I pose one then."  
  
Porthos contemplated that in silence for a moment, then his head whipped up. "You're absolutely right. God, I'm and idiot! Those bastards wanted to be rid of me, they're plotting behind my back!"  
  
The rider held up his hands, "It was simply a thought. Has it occurred to you that their ends might not be nefarious in nature? Perhaps they were planning a surprise for you and did not wish to risk your knowledge? Or they believed you needed a rest and did not realize following me would be so trying?"  
  
Porthos thought about this for a moment, "Maybe."  
  
The rider heaved a sigh, disaster avoided, at least for the moment.  
  
"So," Porthos interrupted the rider's thoughts cheerfully, "which way to Paris?"  
  
The rider pointed straight down the road they were on.  
  
"You're kidding?"  
  
The rider shook his head.  
  
"You were bluffing?"  
  
The rider nodded.  
  
Porthos couldn't make himself be angry, especially since he could see his companion's shoulders shaking with silent laughter.  
  
"Bastard."  
  
The rider nodded. 


	3. Taprooms and Barmaids

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents._

**  
Chapter Three: Taprooms and Barmaids**

"Any word?"

Athos lifted his head from his arms folded across the table. It took him a moment to figure out where he was, and who was speaking to him. Was that God? And if so, what was the Almighty doing in a seedy tavern? And why did he look like Aramis? Maybe it was Aramis. That made more sense. Now what was he doing here with Aramis at this ungodly hour?

"What time is it?"

"After sundown, nearly half past eight I'd guess."

Athos groaned and buried his face in his arms again.

"Don't blame yourself. You had every right to suspect him, and still do."

"God Aramis, it's been a month! Do you know how many excuses I've had to make to Trèville? I sent him away, not you. And if he's gotten himself killed because I couldn't trust him, then you tell me not to drown myself in this tankard of ale..." he looked into his empty mug for a moment before amending himself, "again."

Aramis sighed and called over a tavern wench to refill Athos' tankard and to bring him one. After pressing a coin into the woman's cleavage, he turned to Athos. "Porthos is not dead, and I'm about ready to strangle you out of this depression you've sunk yourself into." Athos just shrugged and buried his face deeper into his mug. Aramis sighed loudly and took a deep swig of ale. "What about Porthos' tattoo?"

"Hell, it could mean anything. It's probably a remnant from his days before becoming a Musketeer. We really don't know everything about each other you know."

"Don't put the blame on me either Athos, you came to me with your accusations remember? Not me to you, so don't get all huffy when I call you on them."

"They just seem so unfounded now without the bodies in sight. And we still don't have any answers to that."

"No we don't, because you sent Porthos away thinking he was a culprit, and now we can't get anything done because we're constantly worrying about him."

Athos whipped his head up, "I sent him away? If I remember correctly old friend, you fully agreed with my reasons."

"But I'm not the one who acted on them was I?"

"Only because you didn't suspect anything you trusting bastard!"

Athos was drunk and Aramis was belligerent, it doesn't take much more than that to cause testosterone driven males to fight, and soon the two friends were engaged in a full-scale battle in the middle of the taproom, which only concluded before they drew swords because they were interrupted.

"Are you two planning on spending the rest of the night hurling outrageous insults at each other, or were you going to greet me properly?"

Athos and Aramis turned with stunned expressions to their friend. "Porthos!" They exclaimed together.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?"

"Why didn't you send word?"

"Porthos?"

The last was given in such a dry tone that Porthos couldn't help but cringe. He turned to his companion and introduced him.

"Athos, Aramis," he pointed, "this is the rider I followed to the ends of the earth, which, by the way, are about four leagues west of Paris."

"So you are Athos," it was more of a statement that a question, and Athos treated it as such.

"Yes," All effects of his drinking binge seemed to have disappeared. Porthos' return with the suspicious rider, the damn man still had his hood up, wasn't conductive to instilling any more trust, "what difference does it make?"

The man jerked a thumb in Porthos' direction, "He told me he was Athos."

Athos raised an eyebrow at his friend, "And why would he do something like that?"

"I wasn't sure if I could trust him," Porthos hurried to explain himself, "I wasn't particularly happy with you at the time and yours was the first name that popped into my head." He stood up and bowed to the rider, "My name is Porthos, perhaps you've heard of me?"

"No."

Porthos sighed and sat back down. "Just what are they teaching kids these days?" He mumbled under his breath.

"Why are you hiding your identity?" Aramis butted in.

"Because I'm not sure how you would react to who I really am."

With that enigmatic answer, the man turned to Porthos and whispered something, at which point Porthos nodded. The man made a quick leg and left the tavern. Athos and Aramis immediately converged on Porthos with questions.

Porthos held up his hands in silent surrender. Then he told the entire story, pausing only to take long drinks from a surprisingly good mug of ale. Made better from his forced abstinence for the last month. He never noticed Athos' wry look at the fact he was drinking his cup of ale, but he didn't bother ordering another.

"And why in the world would you bring him back with you." Athos questioned.

"To keep an eye on him?"

"You don't sound very convincing Porthos." Aramis pointed out.

"Well, it wasn't exactly my idea; you see he kind of brought me back with him." Porthos mumbled this in the hopes that they wouldn't hear him.

"What!?!"

"Damnit Athos! You know I can't find my way out of an empty room. I was lost, the damn man led me around in circle that was so convoluted I'd have been lucky to tell you what country we were in. I actually thought we'd left France for a while. It's actually a rather funny story…" Porthos trailed off at the look his friends were giving him, "Well, what was I supposed to do? Starve to death in the wilderness? Speaking of starving, find me something to eat would you, I think I just might die sitting here. I haven't had a good meal in weeks."

Once Porthos had been properly fed, and nearly depleted Aramis' purse in the gaining of his meal, they began to question him on what the rider looked like and what his name was. Porthos was rather reluctant to admit he didn't know the answers, to any of their questions.

"Well, you should have been there Athos, it just wouldn't have been proper to ask." Porthos argued in his own defense.

"Proper?" Athos spluttered.

"Well, yes. We had just met and got along so well, it was a very candid partnership you see, we were quite straightforward we were." Porthos looked to Aramis for help, but Aramis was laughing at him, "It's not funny!"

"You are incorrigible! You are sent out to spy, and come home with a new friend, and you don't even know his name! It so- so- well, you, Porthos."

"What?"

"Who else could make an enemy into an ally so quickly?"

"Quickly! It was a month Aramis!"

"Yes, but you said you first talked to him today." Athos interjected.

"Well-"

"And he nearly killed you." This from Aramis.

"Yes, but-"

"Only you Porthos, only you." Athos was grinning. He couldn't help it. No matter Porthos' involvement in conspiracies or his possible treason, he was still Porthos, and quite a piece of work. "So where exactly did your new friend head off to?"

"The stables. He wants to make sure his horse was being treated well. I tell you something, that man is as devoted to his horse as most men are to their women."

"Speak of the devil." Athos and Porthos looked up at Aramis' comment. In strode the rider, who stopped at the bar only long enough to order a pint.

"So, other than the bow, which by the way is illegal, is he armed?"

"I honestly don't know." Porthos buried his face in his hands, "I am the worst Musketeer ever aren't I?"

"Certainly not the worst, remember Jean-Baptiste? He stabbed himself in the foot twelve times before Trèville told him to get lost. At least you know one end of your sword from the other."

"Thanks," Porthos didn't sound like he meant it, as a matter of fact he sounded rather sarcastic about it, but you had to take your victories where you could. Aramis' thoughts were interrupted by the man returning to the table.

"Miss me?"

"Nearly died from sorrow," Porthos replied offhandedly, still deep in self-recrimination.

Athos took one look at his friend then realized it would be up to him to get answers from the stranger. "What's your name friend?"

"Louis."

The reply was succinct, and Athos and Aramis were stunned when Porthos began to laugh so hard he fell out of his chair. From his place on the floor holding his side he apologized to Athos for interrupting.

"Well Louis," Athos ignored Porthos' fresh burst of laughter, "what brings you to Paris?"

"Someone killed my uncle, and I want to know who it was."

Athos was a bit taken aback at this. He had expected a plethora of answers, but that wasn't one of them. "And how will you know this murderer when you find him?"

"I'll know."

"Was your uncle a prominent lord that you seek vengeance for him?" Aramis asked.

The rider turned his head and Aramis could see his chin in the dim light of the tavern, "Does a man need to be prominent or even a lord to have a family who loved him?"

"I meant no offense, your love for your uncle is admirable."

"I don't love him. Hell, I didn't even like him but my cousins did, and they're expecting me to do this for them in return for a favor they did me a few years back, so I was left with no option."

"I see."

"No, I don't think you do. You see, my uncle was murdered in Chapelle Mansounx a month ago. I want to know what you know about it."

Athos openly scoffed at the man's demand and Aramis raised an eyebrow, but Porthos seemed to be expecting it, or something like it.

Athos was the first of the trio to speak, "And why should we tell you anything?"

From his vantage, Aramis was pretty sure the man smiled, "Because you're going to tell me eventually, once you decide I'm harmless, so I'm skipping that step." At the incredulous look Athos was giving him, the man shook his head, "I'm not crazy, I just don't like the bullshit everyone goes trough just to get simple questions answered. I'm blunt and I love it, so quit looking at me like I'm a leper."

"I beg your pardon?" Athos sounded stunned.

"Oh dear, what part did you miss? I don't remember my exact words, but I'll do my best to repeat whatever you didn't understand."

"I understood it all, I just…" He looked pleadingly at Aramis.

"You see, Athos was brought up… in the house of a lord, and lord's have a peculiar habit of skirting around very simple issues. I think your directness has stunned him."

"And you yourself are not a lord?"

Aramis smiled, "I have only one lord, and that is the Almighty, no accident of birth will ever change that for me."

His question unanswered, Aramis heard the man sigh deeply, "I don't see what your problem is with sharing information. I'm prepared to tell you what I already know."

"Alright," Athos agreed, "you first."

"Absolutely nothing. I was planning on starting with whatever you can give me."

A very pained expression crossed Athos' face in that moment and Aramis almost felt sorry for him. "So you want me to give you something for nothing?"

"I've told you what I know."

Athos stood and his friends rose with him. He leaned over the table and glared into the man's hood, "Nice try, but my knowledge is mine to keep until you convince me differently." As he stalked away from the table, his tunic was briefly visible under his overcoat. The man followed them from the room into the open night.

"You are a Musketeer?"

Athos turned to look at the man. "Yes." He said with a sigh.

"You swear on your honor?"

"I swear it." Athos sounded resigned.

The man reached a gloved hand up and pushed back his hood. The three Musketeers gaped at the long fall of blonde hair and obviously feminine face.

"Then on your honor you must help a lady in distress."


	4. Sons of the Sign

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents._

**  
Chapter Four: Sons of the Sign**

"A lady?" Aramis' voice came right on top of Porthos' sitting down hard on the ground.

"Lord Almighty, how could I miss that? I am the worst Musketeer ever."

"Yes you are." Athos glared at Porthos. "And you-" he pointed at the woman, "what the hell are you doing?"

"Getting help to solve a murder." She planted her fists on her hips in a stance as old as womankind. "But you don't seem to care that a dozen men died back at Chapelle Mansounx."

"Our job is to protect the king, not police the people." He brushed by her.

"Then why were you there?"

"King's business."

"You mean those men."

"No I mean king's business."

"So that's it?"

"Yes."

"Coward!"

Athos stopped and slowly turned. Aramis, who had been giving Porthos the scolding of his life lifted his eyes and recognized the murderous look on his friend's face. In a desperate attempt to save the woman's life, and Athos a turn rotting under the Bastille, he placed himself between the two adversaries. Judging Athos to be the more dangerous of the two, his appeal was directed at him. "Don't kill her Athos. You'd never live down the humiliation of murdering a defenseless woman."

"Oh yes, she's quite defenseless."

It wasn't what Athos said that made Aramis turn to look at the woman, but rather the way it was said. Eight inches of curved steel lay in each of her palms and a wicked grin was spread across her face. Aramis would have given almost anything to know where she pulled those from.

"Let him come priest, I'm not worried."

"Um children?" This was from Porthos.

"What?" Three irritated voices snapped at him.

"If you would really like to kill one another, and I'm certainly not going to naysay you there, but perhaps you should do it somewhere a little less public, hm?"

They glanced around and sure enough had gathered quite a crowd. The woman slipped her knives into her sleeves and with a grin and a bow said, "Come back inside, I'll buy you a pint and you can listen to me try to convince you to help me."

Athos looked a bit skeptical at this but followed anyway.

"Isn't someone going to help me up?"

Athos and Aramis looked at each other and Aramis conceded with a sigh to help his fallen comrade, but the woman beat him to it.

"Come on," She hauled Porthos to his feet. "God you weigh a ton." Porthos, other than his brief bout of guilt, was taking the news that his new friend was a woman rather well. Porthos took any news that involved a woman rather well. Together, they staggered into the bar. Inside, Aramis raised a hand to order three fresh mugs, then looked at the woman for her order. She raised an eyebrow in reply, so he ordered four; then blushed clear to the roots of his hair when the barmaid leaned over the table to receive her coin in the accustomed place in her cleavage. The woman's eyebrow rose even higher at that and Aramis quickly dismissed the maid.

"Do you have a name, or should we make one up or you?" Athos motioned across the table at the woman sitting there.

"You don't think it's really Louis?"

"I already know it's not." Porthos stated from her left.

She sighed, "Can't you control these two?" The question was directed at Aramis.

"What makes you think I should?"

"Even godless heathens such as them will respect a man of the cloth."

Aramis shook his head, confused, "I don't know what I said to give you the impression I was a clergyman my lady, but I hold no ecclesiastical titles."

She cocked her head to the side in a motion Porthos was beginning to dread, "Pity, it would suit you."

"A name madam." Athos was finally beginning to sound irritated. He'd been irritated for a while, but he was just beginning to sound it.

She shot him a quick grin and a wink. "Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth?"

"I wouldn't question her choice of name Athos," Porthos interrupted as their ale arrived, "she can get pretty mean about this type of thing."

Elizabeth smirked at him. Aramis looked a bit confused but bit back his comment.

"Well, Elizabeth, you said you wanted to convince me, you have my attention. Convince."

She pushed her mug to her left, and leaned over until her elbows rested on the table. "I'm sure you did enough research to learn that the men killed weren't from Chapelle Mansounx." At Athos' nod she continued, "They had accepted work from a man calling himself the Comte de Giverny."

"Giverny is held in a Viscount-ship, not a Comte." Aramis pointed out.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at him as she retrieved her mug which had found its way into Porthos' hand upon the finish of his own. "I know that, and you know that, but most common people wouldn't. They took up work with this Comte in order to further the workings of a group calling themselves the Sons of the Sign." She paused here for their gasp of recognition, which never came. She sighed, "You're telling me that you have blue blood and you don't know who the Sons of the Sign are?"

"Why should we?" Aramis asked.

"Because they are the main backers of the belief that the current king is not a descendent of the original Royal houses: Capetian, Valois, and Bourbon. They believe that at the turn of the 13th century, during the reign of Philippe IV, the queen became pregnant, with a child not of her husband. Rather than be cuckolded, the king chose to recognize the queen's bastard heir. Once he had impregnated his queen, he could simply have the child killed. But after the birth of Philippe V, the queen could have no more children. The king however, fathered a bastard, and he went to his queen to convince her to claim the child as of her line, but she refused. Knowing that his child could never claim the throne since he had already claimed an heir, he conferred his true son to a Lord in the south and ordered him to treat the child as his own. He killed his queen himself by the way, strangled her in their marriage bed. It was quite the scandal of the time. Anyway, there are people who believe that the descendent of this Lord is the true heir to the French throne because of his ties to the royal line of kings, and not some whore who held the queen-ship."

"Whoa." Aramis sat back in his chair.

"Did you catch all that?" Porthos asked Athos.

Athos waved a hand to shush him, "How is it the Musketeers were never informed of this?"

"Because it's all hearsay and rumors. It was never proven and the evidence is so flimsy, it probably never will be. But young nobles join the Sons of the Sign in the hopes of replacing the current king with the true heir."

"Who is this man who claims to be king?" Athos asked.

"No one can be sure. It was never discovered upon what family the child was bestowed; so, like all good myths, this one cannot be either proven or disregarded."

"So those peasants were committing treason?" Aramis asked, "That's helpful, we tell Trèville and that's the end of the story."

"A peasant cannot commit treason." Elizabeth snapped, "They know nothing of the world outside their village and most couldn't tell you who the current king is."

"Ignorance is no excuse." Aramis pointed out.

"And when ignorance is forced down their throats from the day they are born, what excuse can they make then?"

"You know," Athos growled at her, "for someone who doesn't know anything about these plots, you certainly have an awful lot of information."

"It's all history, I assumed you already knew it."

Athos sighed, "Anything else I should already know?"

"Well, I assume you saw the marks on those men?"

Athos and Aramis both shot guilty looks at Porthos, but remained silent.

Elizabeth looked into her empty mug for a moment before turning to Porthos, "Stick out your tongue." Porthos complied without thinking and Elizabeth used his saliva to draw a triangle and three lines that looked very familiar to everyone but Porthos who didn't even bat an eyelash, except at the nasty taste left on his tongue after the grime of the table had traveled there. He began to furiously scrub his tongue with the heel of his hand that is usually only seen with shoe-shine boys. Athos and Aramis were a bit taken aback at his disregard to what was, for them, a blaring indictment of his guilt and treason against the king.

When he had finished, Porthos looked at the mark. Then at his two friends who were looking at him like they expected him to jump up and kill them all. "What?"

"Do you recognize it?" Athos pointed at the rapidly fading mark.

"It's the emblem of the Sons." Elizabeth clarified.

"Can't say I do."

Aramis and Athos shared a long glance, then decided to let it go until they were out of company. "Well," Athos said to Elizabeth, "it seems that you know more than we do."

"It's like this Athos: I know exactly what we're looking for, I just don't have the slightest idea where to look and because I'm a woman, I can't look everywhere. But you can. You're Musketeers, and you can help me find who is responsible for this. Help me bring murderers to justice. Help me Athos."

She sat there under the silent scrutiny of the Musketeers for a long moment before Athos broke the silence.

"Alright, we'll do our best, but you need to stay out of it."

"But-"

"No." Athos slammed a hand onto the table for emphasis, "As you so kindly pointed out, you are a lady, and we can best help you by keeping you out of harm's way."

"But-"

"No."

"Athos-"

Athos just raised an eyebrow. At this point Porthos thought it would be best for him to jump in and play knight-protector to his friend.

"Athos, surely she could-"

"No."

"But-"

"No." Porthos leaned back in his chair with a sullen look and proceeded to drink what was left of everyone else's ale. Athos rubbed a hand over his face and looked at Aramis. "Are you going to argue with me too?"

"No." Aramis replied. "I think you're right. She needs to be kept safe until we have more information."

"Damn you Aramis, you didn't have to be vocal in your agreement." Elizabeth snapped.

Athos smiled, the first time in a long while it seemed. "Where can we get in touch with you?"

Elizabeth looked positively stunned at the question. "I… uh… I…"

"You have no lodging?" Aramis finished for her.

"Not so much." She admitted.

"Do you know anyone she could stay with?" Aramis asked Athos.

"Someone we could trust with a young woman of her face? No."

"What about Porthos, he was married for a time wasn't he? Won't that shield her honor a bit?"

"I know you've spent your entire life thinking you might one day join the clergy Aramis, but that's a bit farfetched even for you."

"Well, she can't stay with either of us, whatever honor she has would be instantly forfeit."

"I know that."

"She could say with Mademoiselle Rougiem." Porthos piped in, looking longingly at a mug left unguarded at a nearby table. He personally thought it was a fine idea that would solve all their problems.

Athos and Aramis thought he was crazy.

Elizabeth, frankly, didn't know what to think.


	5. Boarding House?

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents._

**  
Chapter Five: Boarding House?**

"For love of God and country, release me from this den of transgression foul demon!"

Madame Rougiem rolled her eyes skyward and sighed. Aramis looked slightly startled and shot a quick glance at his three friends. D'Artagnan and Porthos were both valiantly attempting to hide a smile behind their hands. Athos simply sat back in his chair and twirled his burgundy about in his glass. When Elizabeth was dragged in, she was fit to be tied.

"You!" She hissed upon sighting Porthos sitting rather nonchalantly on a couch, her hands contorted into claws, "This was your idea!" She lunged across the small table at the unsuspecting man. Not used to such violent reactions from a woman, Porthos was ill-prepared for her.

"Help!" He cried out, imploring his friends to save him from the hellcat attempting with great fervor to claw out his eyes.

"You can't handle one meek little woman Porthos?" D'Artagnan commented with a sly grin, "You must be getting old my friend."

"Meek!?!" No one could be certain whether it was Porthos or Elizabeth who exclaimed that. It sounded more incredulous than offended, so it was assumed to have come from Porthos.

That might very well have been the ignoble end of our dear friend Porthos had not fate intervened in the guise of Madame Rougiem who pulled Elizabeth from Porthos' throat and began to scold her. Much to the Musketeers' surprise, the woman took it with a bowed head, in much the same posture they themselves took before Monsieur Trèville when he wished to have a less than pleasant word with them. When Madame Rougiem had finished, she turned to see what condition Porthos was in.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." He choked out.

"You don't sound fine." Indeed he did not. As a matter of fact, he sounded like he'd swallowed a rather large portion of gravel. "Janice," she motioned to a servant, "fetch Monsieur Porthos a glass of wat-" at Porthos' pleading look she amended herself, "wine. Anjou if we have a good year left."

Once the servant had left, Elizabeth didn't waste a moment on pleasantries. She put her hands to her hips and began speaking in tone that Moses' wife must have taken with him when he returned from a ridiculously long trip to Egypt. "It's been nearly two weeks Athos! Where have you been? Do you have any idea what I've been through? And here you sit, pretty as a peach and haven't even said good day to me! I have half a mind to-" At a sharp gesture from the Madame, she sighed and dropped her hands and her tone became more level. "It's wonderful to see you again Monsieur, how do you and your companions fare?"

"Well, less Porthos, I'd say we're all doing well. He seems to be having trouble breathing though." Athos replied with a slight smile at her rapid change in attitude.

"How distressing that must be for him. Please give him my condolences" Despite her words, she sounded quite pleased with herself.

Athos was pretty sure Porthos would do him harm if he attempted to pass on her condolences, so he didn't. "Mademoiselle? I don't believe you've met our friend d'Artagnan. D'Artagnan, this is Elizabeth." D'Artagnan stood and bowed, and Elizabeth replied with a curtsy. "As for your earlier question, we've found out quite a bit about your sons."

Elizabeth immediately recognized his words as a covert way of giving her his information. He obviously didn't trust the Madame. For her part, Elizabeth may not have liked the woman, but she did not believe her capable of deception in a matter like this.

D'Artagnan was not as quick-witted has Elizabeth however. "You have sons? What're their names?"

She rolled her eyes and gave Athos a pleading look. "I don't know, they were taken from me at birth, that's why I asked Athos for help."

"I thought you wanted to know about-" Porthos' query was cut off by a glass of wine spilled in his lap by the servant. It did not occur to him while he was scolding the servant that Aramis might have tripped the poor girl to stop his idiotic question. By the time Porthos was done, he'd forgotten his question anyway.

Athos moved on before Porthos could get his bearings. "Would you like to take a walk Mademoiselle?"

"I'd love to-"

But she was interrupted by Madame Rougiem. "I absolutely forbid it. Walk unescorted with a Musketeer? Your reputation would be in ruins."

Elizabeth thought she might choke. "My reputation? I've been living in a House of Ill Repute for the past fortnight, and you're worried about my reputation?"

"House of Ill Repute?" Porthos raised an eyebrow, "That's a novel way of putting it." He turned to his friends, "I've always thought of it as a whorehouse."

"I'll have you know..." The Madame began.

"Oh dear," Elizabeth sat down with a sigh and glanced at Athos, "here she goes again. You'd better get comfortable."

"…that my establishment is a respected source of comfort and pleasure amongst the upper classes." The Madame continued as though she hadn't heard, "Men who keep no mistress or do not wish to be kept by one, come to me from the highest levels of society. Why just the other day…"

Elizabeth leaned closer to Athos and whispered in his ear, "It's the story of the Count de Fère, brace yourself. I've never seen him myself, but the Madame is positively enamored with him." Athos turned sharply to give her a questioning look but the Madame had already continued.

"…a particular Count of my acquaintance came seeking companionship. He comes here often you know, because he knows I can be counted on to be discreet..."

"Ah, yes," Aramis mumbled under his breath, "you seem to be quite discreet."

"And because I always have the best. He knows that I will not reveal his gambling problems or his tendency to pay a bit late on his bills." Madame finished with a glare for Aramis.

"Why is she glaring at me?" Aramis asked Elizabeth, "You interrupted her half a dozen times, I only did it once." Elizabeth shrugged at him in reply.

Athos sighed deeply and repeated his offer to Elizabeth.

"I'd be delighted." She answered before Madame Rougiem could object.

"Fine, it's your life you're ruining." Madame muttered under her breath.

Athos stood and held out an arm to Elizabeth who took it immediately. With a warning look to his friends, they left the room.

"He likes her." Aramis stated once they had left. Porthos choked on his wine.

"You're joking!" D'Artagnan gasped.

Aramis smiled a strange little half of a smile, but said nothing.

Out on the street, Elizabeth and Athos walked until they came upon the riverfront. Athos led her to a bench where they sat a few minutes in silence before he gained the courage to speak.

"Angels and ministers of grace defend me."

"I beg your pardon?" Elizabeth stopped and looked at him, a bit affronted that he felt the need for such help in his dealings with her.

Athos shook his head. "You're not about to like what I'm going to tell you, so forgive me my prayer." When she didn't say anything he continued, "These men, these Sons of the Sign, they were recruiting a peasant army to storm the Bastille and release the men being kept there. The men at Chapelle Mansounx were royalists; men loyal to the king who had slipped into the army with the hope of dissuading the rest of the men."

"But men kept at the Bastille are commoners, why would blue-blooded aristocrats care about them?"

"It was to be a diversion. Their real goal is the Louvre, and the king."

Elizabeth jumped to her feet "We must warn the king!" At the self-suffering look on Athos' face, she sat back down with a sheepish lop-sided grin, "Oh, you probably already thought of that, being a Musketeer and all, sworn to protect the king…"

"Yes, I did. Or I told Monsieur Trèville anyway. The king is safe."

"Well then, disaster averted, what made you think this would upset me?"

"I haven't gotten to the upsetting part yet Elizabeth. I keep getting interrupted."

"Me dispiace."

"What?"

"It's Italian. It means I'm sorry, please, go on."

After a pause, Athos took a deep breath and continued, "The elaborate plot designed by these men all fall back to one person. A man calling himself the Count de Fère."

"I thought they were working for the Comte."

"The imposter Comte works for the imposter Count."

Elizabeth sat for a moment and Athos wondered whether she had actually heard everything he had said. "You mean that the man responsible for my uncle's murder has been staying to be serviced at the same house I have been living at?"

Oh, she'd heard everything all right, her tone left no question of that. Athos suddenly felt very sorry for the man, and he had as much a reason as she did to hate him. Athos' thoughts were interrupted when she leapt to her feet and nearly broke into a run. He stopped her by grabbing her arm. "Where are you going Elizabeth?"

"Where do you think?"

"No."

When Elizabeth turned to him, murder was plainly evident on her face, "No? Do you truly think to stop me Athos?"

Athos let go of her arm, but she didn't get far. "He's not there."

She stopped and turned to him. "What do you mean he's not there?"

"Do you think I would have left Madame Rougiem's house if he was?"

Elizabeth sighed in defeat. "I suppose you know where he went? We are going to follow aren't we?"

He grinned and offered her his arm, "Of course we are. Calm yourself, Mademoiselle, you are in excellent care. The best of the Musketeers are at your disposal." They left the park.

"I thought your job was to protect the king, not the people."

"I believe my words were police the people, not protect the people. And this plot was directed at the king, and therefore our business. We have been ordered to deal with it."

"Why?"

"Well, like I explained, the king's safety is being questioned by these men, so Aramis, d'Artagnan, Porthos and myself have been-"

"No, I mean why are you even including me? You don't need me."

Athos stopped and Elizabeth walked a couple of steps before stopping and turning to him. They stared at each other for a long moment across the few feet between them.

"You're right, I don't." Athos sighed and brushed a hand over his face. "Maybe it's because you care so much about your family. Maybe because I know you'd follow us anyway if I told you you weren't coming." Elizabeth laughed at that and they continued on their way.

When they arrived at the 'boarding house' they entered the drawing room only to find the three Musketeers and the Madame in a rousing game of whist. Aramis and d'Artagnan seemed to be losing by quite a bit. They were the first to look up when the two entered, and they both threw down their cards, a sign the game was over.

"Well?" Aramis asked.

Elizabeth looked to Athos who answered for her. "She now knows what we know."

Porthos stood and offered his hand to the Madame. "So now what?"

Elizabeth grinned, "Pack your bags ladies, and meet at the west gate in two hours. We've got bad guys to catch."

Porthos gave out a loud whoop and left the room. Aramis and d'Artagnan's exits were a bit more restrained, but no less hasty. Elizabeth gave Athos a final smile before heading upstairs.

She didn't hear Athos' final whisper. "Because, dear girl, you remind me so very much of myself before I lost my faith in the world."


	6. Sneaking Suspicions

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents._

**  
Chapter Six: Sneaking Suspicions  
**  
It was long past sundown when the Musketeers and the lone woman set off on the Calais road. Only Athos knew where they were actually going, but he was so absorbed in what seemed to be a rousing one man game of sullen brooding, no one was eager to ask him. Instead, Porthos kept them entertained with tales from his days before becoming a Musketeer, and not a few from after. Most of them were probably even true.  
  
"And before he could say 'ye gods, I'm naked!' I'd stuck my sword in his gullet and he didn't have to worry about that particular fact anymore."  
  
D'Artagnan snorted something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, but hid his grin behind his hand. Aramis shook his head, he'd heard the story many times over. Elizabeth, however, openly laughed. "And what did you do then Porthos?"  
  
"Well," Porthos said, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "his wife was quite pleased with me for relieving her of her husband you know, so I..." Porthos stuttered for a word he could use in the presence of what he was just remembering was a lady, "What I mean is we..."  
  
"Shook hands and parted friends?" Aramis jumped in with help.  
  
"Hell no." Porthos blurted out before he could stop himself. At Elizabeth's raised eyebrow he quickly backtracked, "Um, of course, that's exactly what... ah damn." He sighed heavily and slumped in his saddle.  
  
D'Artagnan nudged his mount closer to his and patted him on the shoulder consolingly. "It's a very good story Porthos."  
  
Porthos turned hopeful eyes to him, "Really?"  
  
"Really." Elizabeth said, "Even though you couldn't finish the ending, in deference to my maidenly sensibilities." She then proceeded to tell a raunchy tale of a soldier, a whore and cursed boots that had the Musketeers nearly falling of their horses in helpless laughter. Unfortunately, Athos decided that this would be a wonderful moment to rejoin the small group and found himself catching only the final phrases of the story.  
  
"So the whore throws down the bucket and says 'Well, if that's the way you want it, I'm leavin'!' And left the poor man clutching those few feathers and watching as that whore walked away in his own damn boots."  
  
The three men exploded into laughter. Hearty gales of it that echoed back off the trees and disturbed a flock of ptarmigans nesting nearby.  
  
"A fine night isn't it Athos?" Elizabeth asked him in all innocence.  
  
"Lovely." Came his succinct reply as he raised an eyebrow at his friends who were acting in a very unprofessional manner in his opinion.  
  
"Ah Athos," Porthos choked out once he had regained a bit of his composure, "you missed a fine tale."  
  
"I'm sure."  
  
"Are you upset?" Elizabeth sounded incredulous.  
  
"No- yes- I mean, God, I don't know. I don't care."  
  
"He's rather odd isn't he?" Elizabeth asked Aramis.  
  
"Yes, but that's what we like about him."  
  
Elizabeth grinned, "Maybe that's what you like about him but I..." She trailed off as she looked behind her and realized she'd crossed that metaphorical line she'd been avoiding. She blushed to the roots of her hair, "ah, never mind."  
  
"No, please," Porthos leaned forward a bit in his saddle, "you were right on the verge of saying something very interesting."  
  
Elizabeth looked at Athos and blushed again before putting her heels to her gelding and urging it forward and away from the knowing grins of the men behind her. They were incorrigible, but she couldn't help but like them all, Athos more so than even Porthos who had quickly become like a brother to her. Athos was... no, she wouldn't let her mind wander down that twisted road. There was no telling where it might end up, and she had enough problems on her plate without adding a Musketeer. Especially one as overbearing, insufferable, handsome, charming... no stop!  
  
Athos hadn't missed her byplay with his two friends and he wondered at it for a moment. She was a lovely young woman, the key there being young. He was probably at least twenty years her senior, yet he'd known couples at court with more than twice that between them, and it had yet to cause even a single raised eyebrow or snide comment. No, it wasn't her youth that frightened him, it was her innocence. She saw the world as fresh and new, and he knew better. It was better for the both of them if he denied the strange attraction he felt to her.  
  
"Well Athos?"  
  
Athos snapped out of his thoughts and raised a questioning brow at d'Artagnan. "Yes, what?"  
  
The four riders grinned at him and he suddenly felt he'd missed a very important joke. The thought was confirmed when Porthos chuckled and gestured at the road they were on. "We were wondering where exactly you were dragging us off to. We've reached a fork you see?"  
  
Athos looked ahead of them guiltily and realized Porthos was right. "Left, my friends, we ride south."  
  
"But after we stop for the night, right?" Porthos interjected hopefully.  
  
"Yes Porthos. After we stop for the night."  
  
Many days passed in much the same pattern as the first; Elizabeth soon became bored with her embarrassment, as was her wont, and she rejoined her easy camaraderie with the Musketeers as the laughed and joked their way south. They had been on the road for almost four days when Aramis finally asked Athos their final destination.  
  
"Auvergne." Athos' tone dared anybody to comment  
  
"Auvergne? Isn't that where-" Porthos began, obviously oblivious to Athos mood.  
  
"We are going." Athos finished for him with a pointed look. "Yes."  
  
"Right, of course. Me dispiace."  
  
"Lord Almighty!" Athos blasphemed, "Does everyone in the world suddenly speak Italian?"  
  
"I didn't know you spoke Italian." Porthos pointed out. When Athos thrust his chin in Elizabeth's direction, Porthos went immediately to her side and they became engrossed in conversation, not a little of it in that strangely compelling tongue that they both seemed to know.  
  
"Odd isn't it?"  
  
Athos turned to d'Artagnan who had rode up on his left, but Aramis answered first from his right, "Yes, it is a bit."  
  
Athos sighed, "It doesn't seem odd to me in the least that she speaks Italian. That woman has ceased to shock me altogether."  
  
"No, I mean that a lone woman, of less than certain background, has agreed to ride into unknown land with four men she barely knows. Well, besides Porthos of course, the two of them are quite chummy."  
  
Athos turned to d'Artagnan, "Do you suspect something?"  
  
"No, of course not. You vouch for her, and Porthos is... well Porthos, despite your suspicions. I just think it's odd."  
  
"And you?" Athos turned to Aramis.  
  
"Porthos is an enigma. I'm not sure what to think about him anymore, and to think I once thought him simple." Aramis sighed, "As for the girl, I like her, but that doesn't mean I trust her. We know very little about Elizabeth, and even that is only what she has told us. I just think you should be careful."  
  
Athos was stunned, "Why me?"  
  
Aramis chuckled and d'Artagnan grinned at him. "Dear friend, none of us are in danger of losing our hearts to her." He clarified. At Athos' scoffing noise d'Artagnan continued, "We cannot help but see the sparks fly between you. You deny it, and so does she, but it's quite obvious to anyone who'll stop long enough to notice."  
  
Athos was having trouble speaking over the spluttering noises he was making.  
  
"It's true," Aramis went on when d'Artagnan finished, "I wish you could have seen your face at the bar that night when she revealed she was really a woman. You looked like you'd been kicked in the head. I've only seen one man wear that look before, and that was our young friend here when he first told us of Constance." At d'Artagnan's wince Aramis quickly apologized, "I'm sorry my friend, I know you still mourn her."  
  
"She was revenged," d'Artagnan stated, "that's all that matters."  
  
A silence fell over the group and they could hear Porthos and Elizabeth conversing rapidly in Italian, occasionally stopping to ask one another for a particular word or phrase.  
  
"I wonder what they're talking about?" Aramis mused.  
  
_[The following is assumed to be in Italian. As the author speaks very little more of it than she does French, this will also be written in English. If you were wondering; no, life still isn't fair.]  
_  
"You truly married a lawyer's wife for her money?" Elizabeth exclaimed.  
  
"Well, when you put it like that it seems rather heartless, but I was rather fond of her." Porthos defended himself.  
  
"And you convinced your friends she was a duchess? Porthos, that's... that's... I don't have words for it. What happened to her? I assume something did since you haven't mentioned her before now."  
  
"About the duchess thing, I'm sure they knew my secret. D'Artagnan at least is far too discerning for me to keep something like that hidden from for long. But, yes, she got sick, and died. She left me her fortune, which I promptly spent, and now am almost right back where I started, just a few years older."  
  
Elizabeth shook her head. She couldn't imagine marrying for anything other than love, because she almost had. Married for something other, that is. And it had, or course been a disaster, much like everything her late father had planned had been. Thankfully she'd escaped and vowed never to be caught again. Elizabeth felt a sudden empathy for Porthos' late wife, because no matter how much you deluded yourself, marriage wasn't right without love. How could it be?  
  
"Uh oh."  
  
Elizabeth turned to Porthos, "What is it?" She asked in French.  
  
"You were harboring illusions weren't you? Damn, I'm an idiot." Porthos spoke in French, "Elizabeth dear girl, I know you have feelings for Athos," at her noises of denial, Porthos held up his hand, "don't deny it. But I feel obligated to warn you, Athos is the last man in the world to wear the marriage collar again."  
  
"Again?"  
  
"His previous marriage was for love my dear, and it ended very badly. Athos doesn't believe in matters of the heart any more." Porthos looked thoughtful for a moment, "Aramis would be more likely and he's sworn to the church."  
  
"Sworn to the Church? But he told me-"  
  
Elizabeth was cut off by the appearance of a rider on the road. This in and of itself would not have been cause of great notice, but the rider happened to be brandishing a pistol, and he was not alone. Soon, the group was surrounded.  
  
"What is your business in Auvergne?"  
  
D'Artagnan seemed to take offense at the man's tone, "None of yours, this is the king's highway, and we are free to travel as we will."  
  
"Musketeers have no right to any part of the Auvergne countryside, go back to Paris and your sniveling coward of a king." Another man sneered at them, emboldened by the overwhelming odds in his favor.  
  
To be honest, there are few things more idiotic in life than insulting a king who rules by divine right. The consensus is that God will immediately strike one such down. However, Musketeers are known to act a bit faster than the Almighty, so the error can only be compounded by doing so in the presence of God and Musketeer. Not to mention four of them. Their reply was precise, but bloody. In a heartbeat, four of the attackers were on the ground, all wounded. The remaining half dozen became instantly wary; but it didn't help. Two more hit the dirt with life threatening wounds before they could respond, and suddenly the odds seemed quite even.  
  
The only thing that saved the lives of the remaining four men was the arrival of about two dozen others who were apparently on their side. "You are under arrest by order of the Count de Fère."  
  
"Marvelous." Was Athos' reply.


	7. Prisoners of Love

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents._

**  
Chapter Seven: Prisoners of Love**  
  
"What a wonderful idea Athos." Porthos was ranting and pacing across the hallway from her. Elizabeth noticed he did that when he got upset about something. "Let's get captured. Dungeons are the perfect opportunity to catch murderers. No need to be outside where we might actually find them..."  
  
"How long can he do this?" Elizabeth asked d'Artagnan who was sitting near her.  
  
"Hours." Came the reply from the next cell where d'Artagnan was leaning up against the bars.  
  
To one side of Porthos, Aramis grinned, "I've heard him carry on for nearly a day before."  
  
Elizabeth sighed and watched Porthos continue to berate an oblivious Athos who was leaning against the bars of his cell and watching the guards. When one made as if to walk by the prisoners, Athos straightened and glared. It didn't seem to accomplish much, but he did it every time. Elizabeth was beginning to find it rather annoying.  
  
"Will you stop that?" Obviously she wasn't the only one, Aramis sounded nearly at the end of his rope.  
  
"Do you want to get out of here?" Came Athos' reply.  
  
"I don't see how glaring at a guard will get us out of this situation." Aramis said over Porthos ranting.  
  
"Trust me, in about an hour, they'll send to talk with us, and they'll take me first." Athos sounded so confident, d'Artagnan almost believed him, but Aramis just shook his head.  
  
"We're about to find out." Aramis motioned at the guards who were returning with keys.  
  
"You." The guard pointed, "Up."  
  
Athos stood straighter and watched incredulously as Elizabeth was taken from her cell and put in shackles. She shrugged at him as if in apology for ruining his theory.  
  
"Ah, yes." Porthos interrupted his ranting long enough to add, "There you go Athos, good plan."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
Well, life certainly has its surprises, Elizabeth thought to herself. She had been certain that when it came time, she would be the last person anyone would want to talk to. Well, more fool she. Her thoughts were interrupted when they came to a set of doors that looked as though they led to a study of some sort. When the doors were opened, her suspicions were confirmed, and firmly ensconced behind the desk was a man with dark brown hair, brown eyes, and average features. Although the cut of his clothes showed that he was a man of some status, he didn't wear them quite like one would expect. In fact, his entire appearance gave off the impression of both average and not- quite- right.  
  
"Ah, my dear, I am truly sorry you were kept down there for so long. The dungeon is no place for a lady." He gestured to a chair pulled up in front of his desk, "Please sit, may I get you anything?"  
  
Elizabeth sat, but denied refreshment. If her friends were to go without, she would too.  
  
The man smiled, "Perhaps you are wondering who I am?"  
  
"No, not really." When the man looked taken aback, she continued, "I am far more interested in why my friends and I were waylaid."  
  
"We had heard some Musketeers were coming south to wreak havoc with out plans, so we beat them to it."  
  
"Ah, so you are the Count de Fère?"  
  
The man grimaced at her, "No."  
  
"Then why in the world am I talking to you?"  
  
The man leapt to his feet, "I am the Comte de Giverny, and you will treat me with respect!"  
  
"I will treat you with respect when you earn it, and Giverny has a Viscount, not a Comte you bastard." Elizabeth delivered her entire retort in a level voice that held infinitely more power than the imposter Comte's shouting had.  
  
"I hold the upper hand here wench, and you'd do well to remember it."  
  
"Ah, so first I was a lady, now I'm a wench? I'm sure women just flock to your side."  
  
"They flock to my power." The Comte's good humor seemed to have returned.  
  
"What power? You sit on an imaginary throne wielding imaginary power at the discretion of a man who obviously threatens you. What power do you have?"  
  
The Comte's jaw tightened, but he held is voice, "I'd watch my words if I were you, it is not wise to insult a man's masculinity to his face. Words like that have a habit of leading to the less savory forms of seduction." At Elizabeth's blank look he clarified, "Rape." When she gasped, he knew he had found her weakness. The chit obviously retained her virtue, and wished to keep it that way. He'd promise her her safety, and gain her knowledge. It's not like he had to keep his promises, now was it? "I see we understand each other. Now, why were you and your friends coming to Auvergne?"  
  
Elizabeth remained silent.  
  
The Comte grinned. "Gustav," he called to one of the guards by the door, "would you be so kind as to relieve the lady of her outer garments?"  
  
Once Gustav had complied, and come out with a black eye to show for it, the Comte came around to sit on the edge of his desk. "Now my dear, you were saying."  
  
Elizabeth struggled against Gustav's hands, but he wouldn't budge. She suddenly found herself wishing she was a man, not for the first time in her life. Well, if wishes were wings, pigs would fly. She kept her mouth shut.  
  
"Do you wish to lose the rest of your clothing as well?"  
  
"You just try it." She bit out.  
  
"Oh no, not another tantrum. Gustav?" the Comte gestured. Gustav, having already been on the receiving end of one of her tantrums, did not feel the need to do so again.  
  
"I'd really rather not milord."  
  
"What?" When Gustav just shrugged and gestured towards his black eye, the Comte became quite angry, "You will do as I say, and hope to all that his holy in this world that I let you live after your impertinence."  
  
Gustav groaned, but moved to do as he was bidden. Elizabeth could already see her advantage, he was scared of her. To think she had thought she would need to be a man. She slipped her knives out of her sleeves and slashed out at Gustav, who leapt out of her reach. The Comte was not so fast. He received a stinging rebuke across his cheek for his presumption that bled down his expensive doublet. Gustav stepped in and attempted to twist her arms behind her, but she was too fast. She put the desk between her and the two men and stood there brandishing her blades.  
  
"You cannot win girl." The Comte pointed out.  
  
"Ah yes, but if you rush me, you will be the one I kill, not Gustav here." She gestured with the bloody knife in her left hand.  
  
"Get her Gustav." The Comte ordered.  
  
Gustav shook his head but came around the desk, his eyes wary. Elizabeth couldn't back up because the Comte was standing waiting for her to just that. She turned and threw the knife that already had his blood on it at the Comte, praying it found its mark, her aim had never been all that good with them. She spun in time to fend off Gustav, but only for a moment. He wrestled her other blade away and tried to pin her arms again. An anguished cry from behind them informed her her first knife had flown true. Gustav overpowered her, after all, she was merely a woman, and held her immobile. They turned in time to see the Comte pull her blade from his shoulder.  
  
Pity it didn't kill him, she thought to herself. She stood tall as the Comte walked over and backhanded her across the mouth.  
  
"Bitch." He snapped.  
  
Elizabeth spit blood at his feet. He looked ready to strike her again, but the sight of something over her shoulder stopped him. He waved her away and Gustav dragged her from the room.  
  
"Why did you stop me from killing the chit?" The Comte asked the other man who had entered the room.  
  
"Because, you imbecile, the Musketeers love her and will protect her. She is of more use to us alive than dead." The other man replied. The he smiled, "Besides, I want to have some fun her first. She fears rape, and that is something I can use."  
  
"But-!"  
  
The other simply raised an elegant brow and the Comte bit back his rebuttal. His time would come.  
  
"Dear Lord! What happened to you?" Porthos broke off mid-rant at the sight of Elizabeth. She looked down at herself and couldn't blame his accusing tone. Her hair was hanging loose about her shoulders in a disarray which wouldn't have been so bad except for the fact that she was still clad only in her undergarments. One shoulder was hanging off, ripped at the seam, a remnant from her tussle with Gustav no doubt, and she was certain she looked as though she'd been thoroughly ravished. She damn nearly had been. And she was in no mood to speak with Porthos, or any of the Musketeers for that matter.  
  
After Gustav had pushed her into her cell near d'Artagnan, the Musketeer rushed to the bars separating them, "Are you alright?"  
  
She turned and gave him a meaningful look that clearly said she thought him an idiot. "Do I look alright?"  
  
"No you don't." Porthos said with his usual bluntness, "And I repeat, what happened to you?"  
  
From his place on the far side of d'Artagnan, Athos could barely see Elizabeth, and it was damn well nearly killing him. She'd looked disheveled when she had come in, and he wanted the reason for it. She didn't seem to want to answer Porthos, so he tried, "What happened?"  
  
Her answering snort told him little. The three men looked to Aramis, the only one of them who hadn't attempted to speak with her. "Don't look at me," Aramis held up his hands, "I'm not stupid enough to try to talk to a woman in her state. You three can take her anger on yourselves thank you very much."  
  
Elizabeth shot him a warm smile, then returned to her sullen brooding. That particular game was getting to be quite the favorite amongst the group. She tired of it quickly however. "Damn man has my knives." She muttered.  
  
"I beg your pardon?" d'Artagnan begged her pardon.  
  
She turned to him, "That damn Comte has my damn knives now. I lost my temper and threw one at him. That guard took the other."  
  
Porthos chuckled, "You threw a knife at our captor?"  
  
"He was asking for it." It wasn't defensive, simply a fact.  
  
D'Artagnan looked at the state of her clothes again, "Yes, I'm sure he was."  
  
She smiled at him. Porthos chuckled appreciatively, "Good girl." She grinned at him.  
  
"But now I don't have my knives, and none of you have your swords, so..."  
  
"We find some other way." Aramis finished on a light note.  
  
"Did he-" Athos began, but stopped himself.  
  
"Did he what Athos?" Porthos queried.  
  
"Did he... take advantage of you Elizabeth?" Athos finished in a rush.  
  
It seemed like a lifetime before she answered, and when it came, it was so quiet they had to strain to hear her. "No."  
  
Athos let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Aramis gave him a knowing look from the other side of the corridor, but said nothing.  
  
The guards, including Gustav who looked decidedly shame-faced returned. "You." He pointed at Athos, "Up." Athos rose to his feet and they put the shackles on him and led him out.  
  
"Aramis," d'Artagnan asked the man across from him, "How long has it been?"  
  
Aramis looked confused for a moment then shocked. He smirked, "An hour as near as I can tell it."  
  
"How the hell did he know?" d'Artagnan looked after Athos.


	8. What You Want to Hear

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents._

**  
Chapter Eight: What You Want to Hear**  
  
"Well, are you the man calling himself the Comte?" Athos sounded amused by the man's presumption, and faintly bored as well, "You're going to have a nice scar." Athos gestured towards the man's face.  
  
"A present from a friend of yours, and by the by, why is everyone doubting my title?" The Comte asked from behind his desk.  
  
"Perhaps because you're true name is Henri and you're a crook who used to con older matriarchs out of their fortunes." When the Comte winced Athos smiled, "You've come up in the world I see, Henri."  
  
"Don't call me that." Henri the Comte snapped.  
  
Athos just gave him a sideways smile.  
  
"So, Athos isn't it? You've done your research. I've been hearing a lot about you lately. You are becoming a threat to years' worth of planning."  
  
"I do what I can." Athos replied modestly.  
  
Henri could see that this man could be dangerous. He desperately needed to regain the upper hand, but thanks to Gustav, he knew just what card needed to be played. "Have you ever tasted her? Elizabeth I mean." When Athos refused to be baited Henri continued, "I can see you haven't. She's sweet my friend, and with just the right seasoning of blood she's absolutely delicious."  
  
Athos lunged forward, but Gustav had attached his chains to a bracket in the wall, he'd learned his lesson with Elizabeth. "You bastard, don't you dare presume to-"  
  
"Presume? My good man, I presume nothing, I know."  
  
Athos growled low in his throat and Henri laughed. He was interrupted by the entrance of another man. Devastatingly handsome, the new entry had not the girlish good looks of a courtier, nor the husky masculinity of a Musketeer. Rather, he was a blend of the two. Even Athos, despite his experiences and partiality to the fairer sex, could appreciate a man built so well.  
  
"Ah!" Henri gestured the man forward, "I was just speaking to my good friend Athos here about his... companions." He put enough of a pause before the word to insinuate he thought there was more to their relationship.  
  
"I thought we had agreed to put off all other interrogations until tomorrow." The man said in a level voice.  
  
Henri winced and motioned Gustav forward. "Take him back."  
  
"No." The man held up a hand and Gustav stopped. Athos noticed that the guard followed the man's orders over those of the imposter Comte. "Leave him. And you, go." Gustav bowed out and the man turned to Athos, "You know who I am?"  
  
"You call yourself the Count de Fère." Athos replied.  
  
The Count cocked his head to the side, "And you think not?"  
  
"I know you are not."  
  
The man smiled, it reminded Athos oddly of a snake. It wasn't a pleasant sensation, "I would be curious to know what makes you say that but it is of little import. What I really want to know is what plans you set in motion before you headed south to here." At Athos' stubborn silence the Count raised a hand and motioned Henri forward, "Fetch the girl, I think our friend needs to reassess his loyalties."  
  
"No, don't!"  
  
The Count crouched in front of him, "You have feelings for the girl." When Athos refused to answer, the Count laughed and motioned for Henri to fetch Elizabeth. "I will speak with her. Your friend and I have a, shall we say, history between us. We will speak, and then we shall see where her loyalties lie."  
  
The Count rang for Gustav and had Athos taken to a room not far away. Then he waited.  
  
"Get your hands off me you primordial baboon!" Elizabeth was drug into the room kicking. The Count waved Henri from the room and watched Elizabeth watch him leave.  
  
"Elizabeth, how pleasant to see you again." Elizabeth whipped around, the voice oddly familiar.  
  
"Philippe?" She whispered.  
  
"Glad to see you remember an old lover. How long has it been, three years?"  
  
"Five."  
  
The Count grinned, "Who's counting?" He walked to her and tsked under his breath, "Now dearest Lizzy, what have you gotten yourself into?"  
  
Elizabeth's eyes went wide with comprehension, "You are the Count de Fère."  
  
The Count smiled, "Quick aren't you? I've come up in the world since we last met."  
  
"I can see you have"  
  
"Any regrets?"  
  
"You mean other than not killing you? Not really."  
  
"But my dear," the Count gestured expansively, "you could have been a Countess and mistress of all you see before you." He leaned closer to where she could feel his warm breath on her lips, "You could have been mine." He kissed her then, and despite Elizabeth's desire to be repulsed, she wasn't. Even after all they had been through, she still craved his touch. Her blood was pounding in her ears and she felt herself responding to his ministrations. He smiled against her mouth and made the kiss deeper.  
  
She could think of only way to save herself the humiliation when he finally pulled his lips from hers. "Athos." She moaned.  
  
He jerked his head back. For a moment he looked amazed, then angry, "So that's how it is, is it? You've found someone else to be your lapdog. Does he know your history, your family? I do. And yet I want you still." His hands were gripping her arms hard enough to bruise, but she ignored it.  
  
"You're a fraud Philippe. You always were, and you always will be. I have no interest in you. You may want me, but I don't will never settle for you."  
  
He growled under his breath, but recovered quickly. He rang and Gustav entered. "Watch her." He ordered, then stalked from the room.  
  
"He's not whoever he's told you he his you know."  
  
Gustav's head turned at the sound of her voice.  
  
"When I knew him he was the son of a parson, and he was as likely to become a Count as I am to be Queen." When he still didn't answer Elizabeth continued. She babbled nonsense at him mostly: things about her family, the Count's family, how they knew one another.  
  
"He is keeping me here against my will for no crime." She pleaded, "That's tantamount to kidnapping."  
  
"Quit talking." Gustav snapped.  
  
"Well, at least you can speak. You don't want to hear the truth though."  
  
"I have my orders."  
  
"From someone with no authority to give you any, haven't you been listening?" But Gustav had retreated back into his shell. "Damn you." She whispered.  
  
Meanwhile, in a room down the hall, Philippe was having a discussion with Athos.  
  
"You have a noble heart to help a lady you barely know."  
  
"It's called honor, but a man like you would know little of that I think."  
  
"I know more than you think. I was counting on you're misguided sense of honor to make you help dearest Lizzy. We both were counting on it."  
  
"The Comte," Athos gave the word an insolent air, "is a buffoon."  
  
"I wasn't talking about Henri."  
  
"You lie!" Athos bit out, but his mind was already racing to conclusions. Aramis and d'Artagnan's suspicions, his own reticence. Damn him his foolish heart, he should have heeded his instincts and left her be.  
  
"You really think so?" The Count replied. "It never occurred to you that my mistress was incredibly convenient? A beautiful woman who just happens to be interested in the same case you were working on? Whose idea was it to come south? Straight into my lair I might add."  
  
"If she was working with you, why would you tell me?" Athos growled.  
  
"Because the little whore didn't do her job. She was supposed to bring you and your servants, where are they by the by?" When Athos just gave him a blank look, the Count snarled at him, "I was offering you revenge, and you give me lies."  
  
He turned to leave the room, but Athos stopped him. "What revenge?"  
  
"Ah, so you do have fire in you somewhere. I was beginning to wonder."  
  
"What revenge?" Athos repeated.  
  
"Elizabeth thinks I still care for her, and that I hold her no grudge for her incompetence, she certainly doesn't know I've told you. I'll give her to you for an hour. Take what revenge you'd like."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Haven't you ever heard the saying about the gift horse?" At Athos' stony silence, he relented. "The darling chit betrayed you, not me. Nothing I devised could come close to what you're dreaming up right now."  
  
Athos thought a moment. "And what do you want in return?"  
  
"Why does life always have to come in exchanges, couldn't I be doing this out of the sheer goodness of my heart?" Athos raised an eyebrow. "Alright, alright. In exchange, I want you to go back to you king and your Monsieur Trèville and act as though you've never been here. You found nothing, nothing happened."  
  
"I can't put my king in danger."  
  
"If I kill you now, won't he be in even more?"  
  
Athos wanted to deny him, he desperately wanted to. But the flames of hatred were already burning bright in his heart. Once, he had believed in a woman and been betrayed. This time, he would strike first, before she could get a handle on his heart and hurt him the way Ann had. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he could hear a voice telling him to stop, but he ignored it.  
  
"You sent her to bring us here, but you let us leave the same day, where's the sense in that?"  
  
"I already told you, she was supposed to make sure no one was left to look for you. Namely, your servants. Without them where I can find them, you're too much of a risk to me."  
  
Athos had already decided, but he had wanted confirmation of facts. "Fine, I accept your offer, and in return, I will leave Auvergne, on my word of honor, as a gentleman."  
  
"And not return?" The Count clarified.  
  
"I will not return in search of you, and if my business takes me here again, I will not seek you out."  
  
The Count rubbed his hands together. "Very well then, shall I have your chains removed?" Athos held up his hands in silent assent and the Count called a guard in to take care of it. "Anything else I can do for you? A whip perhaps?"  
  
"Privacy." Athos bit out through clenched teeth.  
  
"Of course." The Count bowed his head a bit. "I will have Elizabeth fetched." Before he left the Count turned and studied Athos for moment. Apparently, he like what he saw. "Have a pleasant evening, I will have a guard sent in one hour after she is admitted."  
  
"Fine."  
  
Athos waited in the silence of the chamber, his head reeling, but his soul on fire. The bitch had betrayed him. She had used him the same way Ann had, and this time he would be ready. First, he'd make her confess, and then, once she'd thrown herself on his mercy, he'd show her none. Where once in his heart had been the hope of love, now the spot lay empty. There was no room in him for love.  
  
The door opened and Elizabeth entered, her wrists still encased in shackles. "Athos!" She ran across the room and threw herself into his arms, "I was so worried!" She looked around the chamber, "But what are you doing in here?"  
  
"Waiting on you, my dear."


	9. Judge and Jury

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents._

_Warning: This chapter contains non-consesual sex between two adults. You have been warned._  
  
**  
Chapter Nine: Judge and Jury**  
  
The endearment tasted like ash on his lips.  
  
"Waiting on me Athos?" Elizabeth sounded confused. An actress through and through, Athos thought to himself. "How did you know I was coming? And how come you're free?"  
  
Athos ignored the last question, the answer to that would be apparent soon enough without him needing to spell it out. "The Comte let some things slip, and I asked to see you for a moment."  
  
"And he let you?" She shook her head, "That doesn't seem like him."  
  
"Oh, we have an understanding now." Athos looked at her sideways, "You've led an interesting life haven't you?"  
  
Elizabeth gasped and put her hand to her mouth. "I can explain-"  
  
"How long have you known the Count?" Athos interrupted her.  
  
"He was not a Count when I met him, Athos, simply a man, his real name is-"  
  
"How long Elizabeth?"  
  
"Seven years, but I haven't seen him in-"  
  
"No more lies!" He roared, his temper finally obvious, "You've been playing both sides. Helping your cousins, it was a great story, or it would have been. Jesus, do you even have an uncle?"  
  
"Yes, and he was murdered! Please Athos," Elizabeth was near tears. "I don't know what you have been told, or what you think you know, but I am who I say I am. Nothing more, nothing less."  
  
Athos almost believed her, but years of bitterness had hardened his heart. "So you weren't sent to bring us here?"  
  
"No."  
  
"You're trying to seek justice for the murder of your uncle?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You and the Count have not had... liaisons?"  
  
"No... well, yes, we've... but it wasn't really a liaison-" Elizabeth was trying to defend herself. What to call a few kisses shared? A moment? An affair? Lord, she'd nearly married the man, how to explain that? It wouldn't be easy, but Athos beat her to the punch.  
  
"You've been his lover!"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Yes!" Athos was in a fury, and not Elizabeth, nor his friends, nor even God could have stopped him at that point, he was in too deep. He advanced on her, "You have been with him, you Jezebel. You have lain in his arms and felt his passion. You've felt his lips on yours and begged him for more." His voice was harsh with fury. Elizabeth wanted to deny it, but it would have been a lie, "You've craved his touch, and you deceived us."  
  
"No Athos, please, you must believe me. I didn't realize-"  
  
"What? That I'd find out, that your treachery would be discovered?" Athos backed her into the wall, "That I'd seek revenge dearest Lizzy?"  
  
Elizabeth gasped in shock and Athos swooped down on her mouth. His kiss was brutal, ravaging. It was driven by rage, lust, and above all, jealousy. It was obvious how he felt. He took no mercy, nor did he expect a gentle reaction. He was not disappointed. Athos swore loudly and spit blood when Elizabeth bit down on his lip. He snarled, "You'll pay for that, sweeting."  
  
Elizabeth's eyes were still wide with shock, but her voice was curiously empty. "You called me Lizzy." She repeated the phrase like a mantra as Athos looped the chains around her wrists over a sconce in the wall. "You called me Lizzy." She said it even as he jerked her head back and buried his mouth on hers again. His tongue thrust into her mouth, silencing her, and he prepared to pull back if she showed any sign of becoming once again violent. But she was surprisingly complacent. She hung limp from her chains.  
  
"You called me Lizzy."  
  
The words echoed in Athos' ears as he ripped the front of her under-dress open and he had the insane urge to tell her to shut up. What did it matter what he had called her. This was his revenge, he could call her whatever he damned well wanted to. He palmed her breasts roughly as he opened the buttons on his pants, then lifted her skirt to her waist. His hips pressed against the cradle of her thighs roughly as he leaned his head down to bite a nipple. Elizabeth gasped, and Athos prepared himself to hear her beg for mercy. This would be his moment. He'd pause, as if to consider, give her a moment of reprieve, then he'd snatch away her hope as she had done to him.  
  
But she never did. The plea never came. She just kept repeating those damned words in his ear. His temper flared brighter. He had only meant to scare her, but all thoughts save one fled from his mind. Who was she to rob him of his revenge? It was his right, she had played him for a fool. His lust, held in check for so many years, sprang to life. Here was the opportunity to take with his body what he'd been too cowardly to take with his sword with Ann. He should have killed that bitch himself, all those many years ago, but this one here, this one was his here and now.  
  
He poised his erection at the entrance to her womanhood for a long moment. Was he really willing to throw his honor, his nobility, his decency away for one slip of a girl? It would be a betrayal of everything he had once stood for. Could he take that last irrevocable step? Damn right he would. "For you Ann," he growled low in his throat before pulling back to thrust himself inside her.  
  
She may have screamed, but he didn't hear it. She may have struggled then, but he didn't feel it. His world was suddenly centered around the pulse point of heat where his loins joined with hers. He groaned, a half mad sound that issued from the back of his throat and rumbled from his lips. He pulled himself back, then sank himself into her tight warmth. It was difficult, she was very rigid and her body was not prepared for his invasion. He could feel her body against his, twisting and writhing away from him, but he finished despite it, throwing his head back and groaning his satisfaction to the gods of lust.  
  
He sank against her, his cheek against hers as he caught his breath. It wasn't her shudders that snapped his mind back to reality, it was the salty wetness he felt fall onto his lips. He pulled back to see tears streaming down her face. She had turned away from him, as much as she could with her arms still imprisoned above her. For a brief moment Athos felt remorse for what he'd done, but the prejudice and hatred for her sex that he'd harbored for nearly twenty years reasserted itself with a vengeance.  
  
"You needn't bother crying." He pointed out, rather politely he thought, "Your tears won't work on me."  
  
She ignored him.  
  
He sighed to himself. He would simply wait her out. He crossed over to a chair nearby and sank into it, taking the moment to appreciate her womanly assets he'd missed in his haste before. Her breasts were really quite marvelous, full and round, yet still pert and high. Her skin was smooth and flawless, all the way up the graceful arch of her neck. Her lips were red from his kisses and her eyes...  
  
Athos pulled back, startled by the hatred burning inside her. "I will never forgive you for this Athos." She swore, and despite the fact that she was his prisoner, at least for the moment, he felt as though he were at her mercy. He regained his composure.  
  
"Forgive me?" He scoffed openly and rose from his chair to cross to her, "I am not the one who has betrayed her friends."  
  
"You accuse me of betrayal after what you just did?"  
  
Athos raised an eyebrow, "Are you suggesting I betrayed you?"  
  
"It certainly looks that way from here." She jutted her chin to indicate her imprisonment and her state of undress.  
  
Athos slammed a hand into the wall beside her head. "Come clean Lizzy, how long have you known this Count?"  
  
Elizabeth turned her head away from him and Athos used his free hand to turn it back. "Ah, Lizzy, you thought you had us all fooled with your pleas and your plight. We were suspicious of you from the beginning, all except Porthos." A sly look passed across his face, "By the by, how long has he been a part of your little plot?"  
  
Elizabeth gasped in outrage, "Neither Porthos or I are a part of any imaginary plot against you, you paranoid son of a pig-swilling bastard!" She pulled her head back and spit on his face. With a certain amount of satisfaction she stated, "And my name is not Lizzy."  
  
Athos raised his hand to her. "Go ahead," she growled, "I'd expect nothing less from you. Here, I'll even turn my cheek." She suited action to words and when he didn't strike her she laughed, a hollow sound that grated against his memories of her true mirth, "You can rape me, but you can't hit me, what a paradox you are Musketeer."  
  
At the way she said 'Musketeer', Athos grinned without any real humor, "I hate to disappoint you love, but that's not an epithet."  
  
"Don't call me love. You're a disgrace to the Musketeers, I'm sure you would be cast out of your noble order if they knew what you just did."  
  
Athos opened his mouth to reply, but the door to the chamber opened and Gustav entered with a number of other guards. They were followed closely by the Count.  
  
"Ah, my dear friend," he walked over to Athos, "I trust you used your time well?"  
  
Athos met him halfway across the room. "Yes, and you will keep your end of the bargain?"  
  
"Of course." The Count smiled an oily thing that made Elizabeth shudder in revulsion.  
  
"I don't know what he's told you Athos, but you can't trust him." She bit out, "Philippe has a long history of deception."  
  
"My dear girl, you wound me with your sharp tongue." The Count held a hand to his heart in mock pain. "Athos made this bargain with little assistance from me." The Count lied.  
  
"Bargain?" Elizabeth started as Gustav released her hands for above her head, then she turned suddenly on Athos, "You did this to me, for him? For him!?!"  
  
Athos took perverse pleasure in explaining the situation to her, "He made me an offer I couldn't refuse, our freedom, and all I had to do was this." He touched a hand to her cheek and watched in fascination as she jerked from his touch. "I must admit, I think I got the better end of the bargain."  
  
Elizabeth stood straighter, obviously trying to hide an inner pain. "I hope you got that in writing, he isn't known for keeping his word."  
  
"Still sore over that are we Lizzy?" The Count asked, "That was years ago."  
  
"It's hard to forget a murder Philippe." She pointed out.  
  
"Murder?" Athos asked.  
  
"Not if you try hard enough it's not. I had no particular problem doing it." The Count clapped suddenly, "Back to your cells then?"  
  
As Gustav put chains back on Athos he protested, "I thought we had deal?" he pointed out.  
  
"Oh did we?" the Count made a show of tapping a finger to his chin thoughtfully. "I forget these things sometimes. Come along then, Athos, Lizzy."  
  
Athos leapt forward but was caught by two guards, "You lying bastard!"  
  
Elizabeth refrained from an 'I told you so', but her eyes stated the fact plainly enough for all to see. "Don't call me Lizzy." She said almost as an afterthought.


	10. A Change of Plans

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents._

**  
Chapter Ten: A Change of Plans**

They were in sight of the other Musketeers before Athos stopped swearing long enough to speak coherently. "Why?"

The Count gestured for Gustav to put Athos in his cell next to d'Artagnan, then he taunted. "Why? My dear boy, my reason is the most elemental of all." He paused and motioned for Gustav to leave Elizabeth alone, then continued. "Love." He stood in the doorway of Athos' cell and smirked, "Despite my many faults, I did love Elizabeth," He spoke over the other Musketeer's gasps of outrage, "I wanted to hurt her for what she'd done to me, but I didn't have the power to touch her heart, you did. When you five fell into my lap like overripe plums, I couldn't help but try for a bit of revenge. It makes all my plotting and scheming seem somehow more… worthwhile." He smirked at the Musketeer. It suddenly occurred to Athos that the pure malice of the man's expression detracted significantly from his handsome looks. He looked distorted somehow, transfigured by hatred. It was unnerving.

Athos turned his face away from the Count's loathsome stare, and straight into d'Aratgnan's questioning eyes. He looked past his friend to Elizabeth. Her back was to him and he could see her waving away Aramis' questioning glances from across the corridor. He turned back to the Count, "I hope you enjoyed it my lord," his voice dripped sarcasm over the title, "because at the first available opportunity, I'm going to rip your balls off and shove you face-first into the Seine."

The Count simply laughed and walked to where the guards sat. He picked up a stout staff about two inches in diameter then motioned for Gustav to pull Elizabeth forward.

"Let's play a little game," He motioned towards Elizabeth with the staff, "We'll start with answers, every time one of you lies to me, Elizabeth will pay for it." He smiled as Henri entered, "Glad you could join us Comte."

Henri bowed low at the waist, and the Count raised his staff from the middle.

"Wait!" Porthos exclaimed.

"You object?"

"Yes, you forgot to ask the question! Ask me anything!"

The Count smiled, "I want the truth, not just answers, and I think you will need to be persuaded to give me the one and not the other." The Count brought the staff down with a crack on Elizabeth's ribs. She fell forward, hands automatically clutching her middle, but Henri pulled her upright again in an instant.

"Musketeers," the Count began as if he were addressing a crowded theater, "you have come to the home of my good friend with ignoble intentions in your heart. Tell me, why exactly are you here?"

When none answered, the Count smiled broadly. "Good, I'm glad you keep your secrets. Life wouldn't be fun without a bit of torture." He raised the staff again, and Aramis cried out.

"Wait!"

"Too late for that old boy." He swung the staff into the side of Elizabeth's head and she staggered. She came up spitting blood.

"Where are your servants?"

"Paris!" Porthos leapt in, a question he could answer.

"Don't lie to me." The Count swung at the back of Elizabeth's legs and she fell forward.

"Leave her alone." Aramis demanded.

"That sounded like a threat." The Count sniggered, "And how exactly do you plan to back it up. Glare me to death?" He smirked and brought the staff down one last time. Made the last because Elizabeth caught it before it hit and twisted it from his grasp. Before he could cry out she stabbed him in the gut. When the Count hit the floor, she swung it into the side of his head with alarming force. Three of the four Musketeers couldn't help but wince at the cracking sound it made. Athos took a perverse pleasure in it.

She rounded on Henri and snarled. "Into the cell." She motioned towards her previous occupancy. He entered meekly and she swung the door shut. She turned on Gustav, "Do you want to fight me?"

"No my lady, I've been waiting for someone to do that for me since I fell into his service." Gustav bowed at the waist, "I apologize if I've in any way inconvenienced you."

She smiled for a moment, then gestured for him to toss her the keys. Gustav took them from the cowering hands of one of the other guards. Elizabeth unlocked Porthos, then Aramis' cell. Her stiff demeanor restrained them from an affectionate greeting. She turned to d'Artagnan and set him free. She then turned to the task of unlocking their restraints as well. She paused in front of Athos cell, and he wondered for a moment if she intended to leave him there, he really wouldn't blame her. But he was shocked when she opened his cell and unlocked his chains as well.

"Elizabeth…" he began once he was free.

"Don't you dare talk to me." She snapped and turned to stalk away. She stopped with a wince before she could get far and held a hand to her ribs.

"Are you alright?" d'Artagnan asked, his voice full of concern.

She started to nod, but changed her mind, "I think at least two of my ribs are broken. Among other problems." None of the Musketeers missed the scathing look she shot Athos. "Gustav, would you be so kind as to place these two lords," she gestured at Henri and the Count, who was still lying on the floor unmoving, "in chains for their return to Paris?

Gustav nodded and Elizabeth made to leave, but she stumbled and nearly fell.

D'Artagnan stepped forward, "You're hurt, let one of us carry you." He made to pick her up, but she stepped away from him with another wince.

"You rescued us," he explained, "at least let us help you."

Elizabeth looked at him, Athos' words about them being suspicious of her still fresh in her mind. "Porthos, will you help me?"

Porthos stepped forward with a quizzical look and swung her into his arms. "Of course," he said. After a moment she wrapped an arm around his neck.

D'Artagnan looked at Aramis, "Did I do something?"

Aramis was looking at the pained expression on Athos' face as he watched Porthos carry Elizabeth up the stairs, "I don't think it was us." Athos jerked his head around at Aramis' comment. "Was it?" he continued.

Athos opened his mouth, but obviously changed whatever it was he was going to say. He started up the stairs, "No, it wasn't you. It was me. Me and my overwhelming need to be an utter bastard."

The other two Musketeers looked at each other, but followed him. Outside, Porthos was imperially gesturing for someone to bring them their horses. "Can you ride?" they heard him ask Elizabeth. She nodded and he helped her into her saddle.

The Musketeers oversaw the arrangements as the two lords were 'helped' into a waiting wagon which Gustav generously offered to drive. Within ten minutes, they were on the road again, this time for their return to Paris. Elizabeth and Porthos rode at the head of the group, followed by Gustav in the wagon. Athos brought up the rear with Aramis at his side, both silent. D'Artagnan scouted ahead.

"So, are you going to tell me, or should I continue to guess?"

Elizabeth whipped her head up and shot a glance at Porthos. She sighed heavily, "Not now Porthos."

"I'm your friend Elizabeth, you should tell me."

Elizabeth laughed, but Porthos didn't like the hopeless sound of it. "You are my friend aren't you Porthos?"

"Of course I am," He smiled, "we've been the best of pals since you cocked an arrow at me and started into me with your demands you've yet to stop making." She laughed again, and this one sounded more genuine. "By the by, what on earth made you choose a bow anyway?"

"As a child I liked to hunt, but I never could see the fairness and shooting the poor creatures, so I asked… a man in the town where we lived to teach me. I rather like it mainly because no one expects it now a days. But since men have quit wearing armor, it's just as deadly as a pistol, or your sword, especially since mine are poisoned, so even if the wound isn't lethal, the arrow is."

"You carry poisoned arrows?" His mouth was agape.

She smiled, "Have I shocked you?"

"Nothing you do will ever shock me again."

"I doubt that." She mumbled under her breath.

"Now are you going to tell me what happened?" Porthos smoothly changed the subject.

"No."

He opened his mouth but she held up a hand and stopped him, "Tonight, when we stop at whatever inn, I'll tell you. But not now, not here in the open." She glanced over her shoulder at the wagon, "He at least can hear us I'm sure. No, not now Porthos."

Porthos looked at her for a long moment, then nodded.

Meanwhile, about thirty yards further from Paris, Aramis became sick of Athos' sullen brooding. He did it entirely too much in his own opinion.

"So, are you going to wallow forever, or are you going to share in the misery?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"As well you should." Aramis sighed deeply. "Athos, I've known you nearly my entire adult life, we've kept many secrets, but always for a reason. Give me a reason and I'll leave you alone."

Athos sat in silence for a long moment before speaking. "It's none of your business."

"That's never stopped me before."

"I know." Athos ran a hand down his face. "God's balls Aramis, I don't even know… I'm not sure how to… goddamn it."

Aramis decided it wasn't the right moment to take exception to Athos' blasphemy, instead he offered some advice. "Why don't you start at the beginning, when you left us to talk to the Count, by the by, are you planning on telling her that you're-"

"The Count de Fère? No, not now anyway. After what I've done, I really don't think she'd believe me." Athos slouched in his saddle. "There are times I despise being a Count." He laughed softly, "Hell, there are times I despise being me at all."

"Like now?"

"Yeah."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"Later Aramis."

"Athos-"

"Later."


	11. The Truth Shall Set You Free

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents._

**  
Chapter Eleven: The Truth Shall Set You Free**  
  
The mood at the inn that night was tense. Elizabeth immediately went to her rooms, leaving the Musketeers to arrange a watch on Philippe- the imposter Count- and Henri. Once done, Porthos followed Elizabeth up the stairs.  
  
"Come in." Elizabeth responded to Porthos' knock. He entered and leaned his back against the door once it had shut.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Don't play word games with me Elizabeth. You know full and well why I'm here."  
  
Elizabeth sighed, "Yes, I do." She motioned him in and leaned back into the chair she sat in before the fire. Porthos took the other. He waited impatiently while she seemed to gather her thoughts. It surprised him then, when she flew out of the chair and into his arms.  
  
"I hate him!" she cried as tears streamed down her face.  
  
Porthos had been in nearly every position imaginable with a woman, but never as a comforter. He patted her back awkwardly, "Who, Athos?" He immediately regretted his query. A woman in a rage was a beautiful sight- Porthos had always been of the opinion that the man who coined that must have been a glutton for punishment. A woman in a temper was simply fearsome, they all were; they tended to throw things like books, knick knacks and cutlery. This particular woman in a temper, however, was downright terrifying.  
  
She pulled back from him and stood with her hands on her hips. "Yes Athos! Who else?" She gave him no time to respond but began a rant worthy of himself. "That bastard! That no good bastard son of a goat herder! How dare he play God with me? How dare he!" Oh, yes, Porthos thought, Hell hath no fury like that of a woman scorned. He rose from his chair when Elizabeth paused and held a hand to her side.  
  
"Are you alright?"  
  
She waved away his concern. "The goodwife bound them for me, but they still hurt a little." She growled then, "I'm going to kill him."  
  
Porthos sighed, "Are you never going to tell me why you're so angry?"  
  
She glanced at him from under her lashes, "Porthos, has it occurred to you that it might not only be a painful subject to relate, but also an embarrassing one?"  
  
"Aw, girl, what could possibly be so bad that-" his eyes went quite wide at this point, "You didn't?"  
  
Elizabeth drew herself up to her full five feet nine inches, "I certainly did not, but that didn't stop your friend from..." She trailed off and sat back down in her chair.  
  
"Tell me." He whispered sitting down across from her.  
  
"After Athos left the dungeon, you saw Henri come for me," she started from the moment she spoke with Philippe, and ended with their return to the dungeon. She could hear Porthos draw in a breath when she spoke of the others believing he had betrayed them. She left nothing out of her story. Her voice cracked a bit when she spoke of Athos' rape, but she didn't shed a single tear. She swore to herself she was done crying over that man.  
  
Porthos sat very still for a moment when she'd finished, and Elizabeth wondered if he'd even heard her. Then he jumped up and strode across the room in such an astounding burst of speed that Elizabeth was still sitting when he reached the door and she realized his intention.  
  
"Stop!"  
  
He jerked the door open with such force it was a wonder it stayed on its hinges. She leapt to her feet and dashed after him, "Porthos, stop!" He was already at the door to the taproom. She held an arm to her side and nearly fell down the stairs in her haste to catch him before he did anything rash.  
  
She was too late.  
  
"I think Porthos wants a word with you." Aramis pointed out, looking over Athos' shoulder at the approaching man.  
  
Athos turned in time to receive the full force of Porthos fist across his head. He fell back out of his chair and Aramis leapt to his feet.  
  
"Porthos..." He began in an even tone, but Elizabeth voice from across the room cut him off.  
  
"Don't you dare kill him Porthos!"  
  
"How can you defend him? After what he did to you?"  
  
Elizabeth reached his side then, one hand clutched to her ribs which pained her more than she would admit. Ignoring Athos, who was still on the floor, she turned the full force of her wrath on Porthos. "If you kill him, then where is my revenge, where is my justice?"  
  
"But Elizabeth-" Porthos was still growling.  
  
"You should probably let him." Athos finally spoke as he got to his feet, "He won't be satisfied until he's shed my blood. More of it anyway." He amended as he wiped a blot of red from his lip.  
  
"You." Elizabeth rounded on him, "You... you..." at a loss for words she resorted to placing her fist in direct opposition to his nose instead. Aramis caught him this time and two Musketeers watched in stunned awe as Elizabeth pointed one long finger at Athos and let loose with a string of insults in several languages. "How dare you deign to give me orders!" She was yelling by this point, and they had attracted a crowd that now included d'Artagnan, but she didn't notice. "What right do you think you have to even speak to me after what you've done? I should let Porthos beat you into a pulp, would that make you happy? Would that assuage your guilt?" She sniffled and it was only then she realized she'd started crying again. "Nothing has ever hurt me the way you did. And nothing ever will. You betrayed my trust, and you violated it. You violated me Athos." Her voice was level, "May God have mercy on my soul, but I don't think I will- I don't think I ever can forgive you for that."  
  
She brushed by Porthos on her way to her room. He turned to follow her, but instead slammed his fist into Athos nose, in almost the same spot Elizabeth had. It may not be what she wanted, but he could certainly justify the need to do it himself. Anyway, if she could punch Athos in the nose, so could he. He rounded on the other two Musketeers.  
  
"I thought friendship meant trust, but trust must work both ways. You may have thought for whatever reason that I had deceived you, but I am the one betrayed. For Elizabeth's sake I don't kill you, but do not come near me again." He turned away then and followed Elizabeth up the stairs.  
  
Aramis didn't catch Athos when he fell from Porthos' blow this time. "What have you done Athos?" He whispered.  
  
Athos cradled his nose gently in his palm. It didn't feel broken. He sighed deeply. "I told you I was a bastard."  
  
"Yes, but a bastard mean you said things that shouldn't have been said, but you were a monster if you did even half the things she was implying." D'Artagnan commented in a quiet voice.  
  
"I did everything she implied."  
  
"Damn it Athos!" Aramis exploded, for once not even caring if his God confined him for an eternity in Hell for his blasphemies. "How could you? We are Musketeers, the King's own bodyguard. We are the best of the best, and you..."  
  
"I know full and well what I have done."  
  
"And Porthos," d'Artagnan began, "I must confess that I understood little of what he was saying."  
  
"I did." Aramis gritted out. "At some point Athos let it slip to Elizabeth that we believed he might have been in league with the Sons of the Sign. Isn't that right?"  
  
Athos nodded wearily, not even bothering to get up.  
  
"Athos," Aramis shook his head sadly, "what on earth could drive you to such measures?"  
  
"Jealousy."  
  
"You have destroyed a friendship that spans a decade and the only real chance you've had at love in your entire life for jealousy?" D'Artagnan asked stunned.  
  
"For a man that has lived with the pain of betrayal for nearly his whole life, I think that was rather restrained." Aramis pointed out, "I'm surprised you didn't kill her outright."  
  
"I nearly did."  
  
"Do you regret it?"  
  
Athos jerked his head around to Aramis. "Not killing her?"  
  
"The other."  
  
"How could I not? She was innocent of any wrongs."  
  
"And if she hadn't been?"  
  
Athos looked shocked for a moment, then thoughtful. "I honestly don't know. I would like to say I would, but I know not my own heart any more. Had she been guilty, I may have continued to hurt her without a hint of remorse."  
  
D'Artagnan shook his head. "We are a sad excuse for Musketeers. Not once, but twice have we been part and party to a lady's downfall. Even if we could excuse the first as justice, we cannot excuse ourselves from the second."  
  
"We?" Athos looked up at d'Artagnan, "You do not shun me?"  
  
"Athos" Aramis crouched beside him, "you have been my dearest friend since I was still a young man, I would not and cannot turn from you now."  
  
"Nor I." D'Artagnan interjected, "You are much as my father was Athos, I may not approve of your actions, but I will stand by you."  
  
"And again we are the three Musketeers." Aramis quipped.  
  
Athos looked at him a bit askew before bowing his head in gratitude. "I do not deserve such friendship."  
  
Aramis laughed, "No you don't. But we will strive to make you worthy and to right the wrongs you have done. All for one my friend."  
  
"I had nearly forgotten our creed." D'Artagnan said with a loud sigh. "It seems like so long ago, yet it could not have been more than four, five years? I feel old."  
  
"You feel old? How do you think I feel, I'm nearly two decades your senior. Bah! You feel old." Aramis said as he sat in a chair near the table Athos was still sprawled in front of. D'Artagnan sat next to him and Athos hoisted himself from the floor to join them. Aramis ordered a round of whiskey and stood up for a toast when it came. "All for one!"  
  
"And one for all!" They responded and drained their glasses.


	12. The Past is Another Land

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents._

**  
Chapter Twelve: The Past is Another Land**  
  
The lines had been drawn. To one side stood Athos, Aramis and d'Artagnan. To the other Elizabeth, Porthos and to everyone's astonishment Gustav. Apparently, he had been quite impressed by Elizabeth's actions in Auvergne. It was the general consensus that had Elizabeth decided she wanted Athos killed, Porthos may have to fight Gustav for the honor. This, of course, irked Athos to no end.  
  
"How is it we're trusting him?" He complained to Aramis about two days from Orlèans.  
  
Aramis raised one eyebrow in a mocking sort of concern, "Has he given us any reason not to?"  
  
"Does it matter? He was one of Philippe's soldiers. Do we really know where his loyalties lie?"  
  
"Don't you think we learned our lesson from Porthos about trust? I'm prepared to believe him until he shows us otherwise."  
  
Athos grunted.  
  
Aramis smiled to himself. "What is it that bothers you: that we trust him, or that she trusts him?"  
  
Athos whipped his head up. "Do you think that she might-?"  
  
"Athos," Aramis began, "if it bothers you, perhaps you should talk to her..."  
  
"Oh, yes, that's a wonderful idea. 'Hello Elizabeth'" His voice took on a sarcastic note, "'I was wondering if you might want to talk to me about your feelings for Gustav. I realize that you hate me and that I'm an utter bastard, but I thought you might want to know I don't like that idea of you with him.' That's great Aramis, thanks for the help."  
  
"Well, if you never talk to her, how can you ever make amends?"  
  
Athos growled, but didn't answer.  
  
Elizabeth was beginning to wish she had never told Porthos about his friends distrusting him. It was now all he would talk about. All day. Every day.  
  
"I have known them how many years? And still they distrust me. And d'Artagnan, we've known him six years if that!"  
  
Elizabeth sighed deeply.  
  
"I'm sorry Lizzy, I'm ranting."  
  
"Do not call me Lizzy."  
  
"I beg your pardon?" Porthos sounded shocked, mainly because she'd just shouted at him.  
  
"I said don't call me Lizzy, he called me that."  
  
"Athos?"  
  
Her eyes narrowed, "Him too."  
  
Maybe twenty yards back, Athos shushed Aramis and strained his ears to hear her.  
  
"I don't understand." Porthos was saying.  
  
"When I knew Philippe, he called me Lizzy. I was never very fond of it then, and I certainly don't like it now."  
  
"How is it you know him? That's one of the things that still confuses me."  
  
Elizabeth sighed, "It's a very long story."  
  
"It's a very long journey."  
  
She smiled and began as Athos, Aramis and d'Artagnan eased forward so they could listen as well. Her background was a mystery, and all of them had particular reasons for wanting to hear it.  
  
"When I was still a young girl, my father and I moved to the south of France."  
  
"You were not born here?"  
  
"Are you going to interrupt me every two seconds?"  
  
"No, me dispiace."  
  
She looked at him for a long moment, and he cracked. "Where were you born?"  
  
She smiled at him. "I was born in Italy." She raised an eyebrow at him, "And when I was no more than ten years, my father and I moved to France."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Aramis resisted the urge to tell him to shut the hell up.  
  
"That, my friend, is none of your business. My father and I moved near a small village called Mônt Parsonaux. Before you ask," she held up a hand, "it's not there anymore. The villagers believed it to be cursed and left many years ago. When we arrived, my father became fast friends with the local parson. He was the younger son of a lord to the west, and my father, bright man that he was, decided it would be an amazingly wonderful idea to betroth his daughter to that man's son. Even that small amount of noble blood satisfied his desire to marry his only daughter off well. He would have preferred better, but one takes what one can get on such short notice."  
  
"You were betrothed? What happened to him? Who was he??"  
  
"You've met him Porthos." She turned and pointed, "Philippe, he's riding about ten feet behind us."  
  
Porthos turned on his horse in time to see Gustav pull forward from his position where he had been trying to listen in, but not in time to see the three Musketeers do the same. "You were betrothed to Philippe?" From the disbelief in his voice, she may as well have just proclaimed her heritage as divine.  
  
"Oh yes. Charming idea is it not?"  
  
"Quite."  
  
She gifted him with a brilliant smile before continuing. "My father, may he burn in flames eternal, let it known that in his will, my husband and I would become the sole owners of a rather extensive set of land. Philippe, charmer that he is, immediately pushed for our wedding, and when that failed, killed my father, hoping to push me into marriage."  
  
Porthos growled.  
  
"My thoughts exactly. It obviously didn't work. He bragged to some friends about the murder, and when I confronted him, he confessed it, telling me it was all for love. I left, went to visit some family to the east, and had no reason to return until this started." She gestured back towards the cart and sighed, settling herself back in the saddle.  
  
Porthos looked at her for a long moment. "There are some gaping holes in that Elizabeth."  
  
"And?"  
  
Porthos sighed. "You don't trust me?"  
  
"You've never told me your checkered past. Why should I share all of mine?"  
  
"Because we are friends Elizabeth, that's what friends do, they share."  
  
"Well," She said with exaggerated patience, "share."  
  
Porthos was silent for a time. Finally he swore loudly. Profusely. In multiple languages.  
  
"You see?" She smiled, "There are some things that are just not meant to be." Elizabeth reached out and laid one of her gloved hands on his. "There are things in my life I trust to no one Porthos. It's just... not safe."  
  
He raised an eyebrow, but kept his mouth shut. It was Elizabeth who ended up breaking the silence.  
  
"So," she said with forced cheerfulness, "how far are we from Paris?"  
  
"About a week, why?"  
  
"Just wondering. Where are we stopping tonight?"  
  
"Blaes."  
  
"Ah." She replied, as thought this fact may hold some amount of importance to her.  
  
"You've been to Blaes?" he asked.  
  
"Ah... no actually. What's a Blaes?"  
  
"It's a city."  
  
"Oh," she looked at him from under lowered lashes. "Why do you bring it up?"  
  
"Because that's where we're stopping for the- wait, you brought it up."  
  
"I did not." She sounded offended.  
  
"You did."  
  
"No, I didn't Porthos. Are you feeling alright?"  
  
Porthos rode in silence for a moment before he observed her shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth.  
  
"That's not funny."  
  
"I thought it was."  
  
"Well, you thought wrong."  
  
"It wouldn't be a first."  
  
"I would think not."  
  
"But it doesn't happen often." She amended.  
  
"I would think not." He echoed.  
  
She smiled at him.  
  
He smiled back.  
  
Athos sighed, loudly.  
  
"You're just hating this aren't you?"  
  
Athos turned to Aramis. "Leave. Me. Alone."  
  
"We're in this together. I'm on your side remember?"  
  
Athos sighed again.  
  
"You do realize the sullen brooding thing isn't terribly attractive, don't you?" Aramis pointed out.  
  
"Shut up." He looked up past Gustav who was staring at Elizabeth with a look he had to admit he just didn't like. "I'll be back." He told Aramis and spurred his horse forward towards Porthos and Elizabeth.  
  
"God go with you my friend." Aramis muttered under his breath, "You need all the help you can get."  
  
"Elizabeth!" Athos called out and watched her back go as straight as a broom handle.  
  
"What?" she said shortly without turning around.  
  
"May I speak with you?"  
  
She reigned her horse in and waited for him to catch up. Porthos caught her eye for a moment but she waved him on.  
  
"Sure."  
  
Now that Athos had her attention, he wasn't entirely certain what to do with it. "Well, I was just thinking that... well... maybe if I..."  
  
"You what?"  
  
"I'm not certain, but surely there is something I can do that will prove to you that I regret- what I did to you."  
  
Elizabeth gave him a scathing look, "I do not doubt you regret anything Athos. What does this have to do with me?"  
  
"Well, I wanted to know- I wanted you to know that if there's anything I can do- if there's anything you need- I'm here for you."  
  
Elizabeth looked as if she might commit murder, "Here for me?" In her anger, she seemed to grow in stature. "You're here for me? Do you remember what happened last time you were here for me?" When he looked as though he might interrupt, she held up a hand. "You know what, never mind, I don't want to think about you or this or anything else right now."  
  
"But Elizabeth," he grabbed her arm.  
  
She looked down at where his hand was on her. "Don't touch me."  
  
He let go, "Elizabeth, talk to me."  
  
"Athos I-" But they were interrupted as the trees around them erupted into gunfire.


	13. A Pleasure to Serve, Monsieur

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents._

**  
Chapter Thirteen: A Pleasure to Serve, Monsieur**  
  
"Run!" d'Artagnan shouted.  
  
They put spurs to their horses, but it was Elizabeth who noticed Gustav couldn't get the cart-horses to move. She wheeled her gelding around and moved towards him, putting out a hand and swinging him behind her. She paused for an indecisive moment at the sight of a bound Philippe and Henri, but rode away from them. Let them die.  
  
The Musketeers abandoned their captives to regroup farther down the road, away from the crossfire.  
  
"Why?" Aramis gasped.  
  
"The Count?" Gustav offered, still behind Elizabeth, there wasn't much elsewhere he could go.  
  
Athos glared at him, but had to admit, "It's got probability, unless someone here has severely pissed someone else off lately?" He looked at the negative shakes of the head around him. "Well, since no one's after us specifically, I suggest we go back and see our captives, or what's left of them."  
  
"One can always hope." Porthos murmured under his breath.  
  
Elizabeth shot him a quick wink, pulling her bow from her saddle-blankets. "Would you mind either waiting here, or riding with Porthos, Gustav?" At his hurt expression she explained, "I can't really shoot very well with you back there." He nodded and Porthos moved closer so he could switch mounts. Elizabeth swung her quiver into position and pinned her bow together. She smiled, for the first time in a long while including all her companions, "I feel like kicking some ass."  
  
D'Artagnan returned her smile and pulled out his pistol. They wheeled around and rode back towards the abandoned cart.  
  
Four men, all wearing purple sashes, were attempting to pull Philippe and Henri from the cart. The Musketeers quickly dispatched them. One man, obviously a leader from his lack of weapon and imperious manner, abruptly sprouted a feathered shaft from his forehead. Porthos looked back over his shoulder at Elizabeth who gave him a brisk salute with her bow before drawing fletching and impaling another soldier. Henri and Philippe were free and already on horseback. Shooting her a look of pure loathing, Philippe turned from Elizabeth and rode off into the woods with the remainder of the guards.  
  
"Well that went well." Four eyes turned on him and Porthos shrugged. "I'm an eternal optimist, so what?"  
  
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Do we follow, or do we still even care?"  
  
Athos rounded on her. "Don't you still want justice, isn't that why you're here?"  
  
"Sometimes I wonder if it's worth all this to save the soul of a man I couldn't stand." At the questioning looks around her Elizabeth sighed, "And no, I'm not going to elaborate." She rode forward and inspected the remains of the wagon horse. "Looks like you're riding double Porthos." She briefly touched her forehead out of respect to the dead animal then turned her mount towards Blaes.  
  
"So what do you think the chances of us catching them are?" d'Artagnan asked from her side.  
  
She raised one eyebrow at his presumption that she might wish to converse with him. "Slim to none." She replied anyway.  
  
"Pity."  
  
Elizabeth made a noncommittal sound under her breath. Or began to. The ring of a pistol shot turned her noncommittal noise into more of a curse as she clutched her arm, watching blood seep from between her fingers.  
  
"Where...?" The men shouted, almost as one, wheeling their horses to peer into the thick line of trees near the road. One detached himself from his companions and pressed his mount close to Elizabeth's, he began to reach for the hand she held to her wound, but stopped himself.  
  
"May I?"  
  
Athos was as surprised as the rest of the Musketeers when Elizabeth nodded and allowed him to inspect the gunshot wound.  
  
"I don't think it's serious."  
  
"It feels serious." She grumbled.  
  
He smiled briefly at her humor.  
  
"Athos."  
  
Athos looked up from his tending of Elizabeth to d'Artagnan. "Yes?"  
  
"How far is it to Blaes?"  
  
Athos' brow furrowed for a moment. "Normally, I'd say six or seven leagues, maybe two hours; but with her wound..."  
  
"You don't need to worry about me, I'll be fine."  
  
D'Artagnan crooked a half-grin at her. "Mind if we do anyway?"  
  
She sighed dramatically, "If you insist."  
  
Aramis and d'Artagnan smiled.  
  
"Alright," that voice was Porthos. Only he could sound so put out without being offensive. "Elizabeth's been shot, and I'm riding doubled. If we make a league an hour, and it's six or seven leagues..." He trailed off here. Obviously the strain of the mathematics was too much for him.  
  
"Six or seven hours." Athos sighed. A sudden flashback to Monsieur Trèville's office, where he'd been asked to school his friend many years ago, went through is mind. "One league an hour times six leagues is six hours Porthos."  
  
"I fight Athos." Porthos huffed, "I have no need to get myself mixed up in arithmetic as well."  
  
"Watch this," Aramis whispered to Elizabeth as Athos finished her bandage. "Porthos, if a whore is charging you half a silver crown an hour, and you stay for six hours, how much do you owe her?"  
  
"Three silver crowns Half a gold piece." Porthos replied without hesitation.  
  
Aramis winked at Elizabeth, "You see Athos, you just have to put it in his own terms."  
  
"But after a night with me, I doubt I'd need to pay it."  
  
He pretended to ignore the dumbstruck looks his friends gave him.  
  
The journey henceforth had an air of normality about it. Everyone was on relatively open speaking terms with one another again, although the tension was still high between Athos and Elizabeth- and Porthos was making no effort whatsoever to speak to Athos.  
  
They had ridden maybe two hours (which was also two leagues as d'Artagnan was patiently attempting to explain to Porthos), when a commotion caught their attention. Although it was not directed at them, their innate curiosity got the better of them.  
  
"Grimaud, so good of you to join us."  
  
"As my master wishes, so I obey."  
  
Porthos' mouth might well have been permanently hinged open.  
  
"Mosqueton?"  
  
"Of course, sir, you have something on you tunic." He moved near, obviously with intent and purpose to clean said tunic without any regard to the fact that said sir was still wearing it.  
  
"Friends of yours I presume?"  
  
Athos turned to Elizabeth as they dismounted, grateful for at least one opportunity to speak with her. "These are our servants. My own here, is Grimaud." He bowed. "The fellow standing next to Porthos is Mosqueton." He moved forward and kissed the back of her hand, despite Athos' warning growl. "The somber looking man in the black is Bazin, who serves-"  
  
"Let me guess- Aramis?"  
  
"Correct, and the man with the sword and looking as though he's about to slay a dragon is Planchet, employed to d'Artagnan. This is Elizabeth."  
  
"Pleasure." Elizabeth said with a smile.  
  
"Oh," Athos grumbled, "and this is Gustav." There was a definite growl in is throat during that name. The four servants bowed, Gustav bowed back. "Did you find them?" Athos asked Grimaud.  
  
"Not fifteen leagues east of here."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Excuse me?" Porthos coughed politely, which earned him a raised eyebrow from Aramis, "Who did they find, and what are they doing here?"  
  
Athos began to explain. "Before we left Paris, I gathered all of our servants and asked them to find Philippe's army for us." At Porthos' blank look he elaborated, "The one he is going to attack the Bastille with to disguise his attempt on the king?"  
  
"Oh." Said Porthos.  
  
"You understand?"  
  
"I think so," Porthos murmured, "But who's Philippe again?"  
  
Athos sighed, "Why me?"  
  
"The Count de Fère." Elizabeth offered.  
  
Porthos nodded, he might be slow, but his mind hadn't managed to stop completely. Yet.  
  
"But I thought Athos was-" Planchet began. He was cut off when d'Artagnan casually slapped him upside the head. "What?"  
  
Elizabeth turned on Athos in open-mouthed astonishment. Athos relished rendering her speechless for a moment. "Yes, I am the Count, that's how I knew Philippe had to be an imposter."  
  
"You're a Count?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And you never told me?"  
  
Athos backed away as she advanced on him. She was kind of scary when she was angry. "It never came up?" he offered as explanation.  
  
"We have been tracking Philippe, calling himself the Count de Fère, for nearly two weeks, and the topic never came up?"  
  
Athos tumbled and fell on his derriere, mainly because she had shouted the last bit at him. "I'm sorry?"  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Men."  
  
Better than heartless bastard, Athos thought to himself. At least I'm moving up the scum ladder.  
  
"So," d'Artagnan was saying, "What else?"  
  
"I beg your pardon, sir?" Planchet was making a worthy attempt at an innocent expression.  
  
"You have the 'I did something I'm not sure I should have' look."  
  
"Why, he does doesn't he?" Porthos peered around to look.  
  
It was Bazin who came to his rescue. "Ahem."  
  
"Yes Bazin?" Aramis asked.  
  
"When we found the army, we sent word to Monsieur Trèville. The remainder of the Musketeers are about one league west of here."  
  
"You guys don't do anything halfway do you?"  
  
Athos shot a glare at Elizabeth. She shrugged.  
  
"I suppose we should go join them?" Aramis offered.  
  
"Probably." Porthos sighed. "And I was just getting used to the rough life."  
  
"We'll find you a nice accommodating wench to yell at you when Elizabeth becomes distracted." D'Artagnan offered.  
  
"That's not what I meant."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Boys? Are you coming?"  
  
"Ah..." d'Artagnan slung an arm over Porthos' shoulder as they made their way back to the horses, "there calls the Siren now."


	14. Family Traditions

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents._

**  
Chapter Fourteen: Family Traditions**

"Where in he blazes of hellfire have you been?" the shout was directed at the four Musketeers.

"A pleasure to see you again too Monsieur."

Trèville, Captain of the Musketeers, was a powerful man, and one used to getting his own way in all situations. He didn't like to be discomfited, but at Elizabeth's words he slumped into the chair he had previously rocketed out of.

"Lizabetae? My God is it really you? Where did you come from?"

"My mother always told me heaven." She smiled and he came around the table to wrap her in a hug that lasted for a long time.

"Lizabetae?" d'Artagnan mouthed to Porthos, who shrugged, just as confused.

"How have you been? I haven't seen you in, what? Seven- eight years?"

"Eight." Trèville gruffly replied.

She smiled sadly, "Too long. You heard I suppose?"

"About you father? Yes I'm sorry to say. Did you find out who did it?" When she nodded he perked up, "Is he dead?"

Elizabeth shook her head, "No, but I'm working on it."

Trèville smiled. "You are your father's daughter."

"I wouldn't be anyone else." She sighed. She looked over her shoulder and smiled. "But as my new friends here seem confused, I go by Elizabeth now." At Trèville's questioning look she clarified, "No one in this country could ever pronounce my name."

"Alright- Elizabeth." He gestured at his Musketeers, "Come in, and I want answers."

Athos sighed.

"And I thought we'd get away scot-free." Aramis murmured.

"You thought wrong." Trèville announced. "Now, I want to know where you've been, what you've been doing, and who you've been doing it with."

"Auvergne."

"Getting captured."

"The Count de Fère."

"Stop!" Trèville roared. When silence fell again he pointed as d'Artagnan. "Where have you been?"

D'Artagnan attempted his best 'why me?' look but replied. "We went to Auvergne to capture the imposter Count de Fère."

"But I thought that you were-" Trèville cut himself off when he realized they were in mixed company.

"Dear Lord, you people have kept my secrets for years, and now everyone decides to slip in the same day." Athos grumbled.

"It seems to be a day for secrets." Trèville announced in that annoying way people who have too much information at their disposal do.

Elizabeth remained dignified and ladylike- as dignified and ladylike as one can be when one's tongue is protruding from one's mouth that is.

"I have an instinct that we have missed a rather important exchange somewhere in here." Aramis commented.

"I'd guess so as well." D'Artagnan coughed under his breath as Elizabeth was glaring bloody murder at Aramis.

"D'Artagnan!" Trèville snapped. Once he had his attention, "And where is the imposter Count?"

This question was met with a variety of noncommittal noises from the Musketeers and Elizabeth.

"You didn't capture him?"

"Well," Athos defended them, "to say we didn't capture him is a bit… misleading. We simply had trouble keeping him."

Before Trèville could begin the tirade that was sure to follow such a statement, another Musketeer entered the tent. "Monsieur, there is a man here-"

"Tell him to wait." He ordered.

"Monsieur, he is looking for her." The Musketeer pointed at Elizabeth. At Trèville's raised eyebrow Elizabeth shrugged. "Shall I allow him entrance?"

"By all means." Trèville glanced at Elizabeth. "Any idea whom this might be?"

"A few." She replied, "But I'll wait to make a judgment."

When the blonde man entered the tent, Elizabeth shot to her feet. "Louis?"

"Louis?" Porthos spluttered.

"It seems I'm famous." The man, presumably named Louis, said. "Well?"

Elizabeth looked away from his penetrating gaze. "I haven't found you vengeance, but I have found the murderer, and I don't think you will guess who it is."

"Philippe."

"Philippe- whoa, wait a minute, how the hell do you know that!"

Louis sighed and sank heavily into a chair, seemingly oblivious to the presence of other people in the tent. "Liza, we were not all as enamored of the man as you were." When Elizabeth blushed, Louis continued, "I've always had a bad feeling about him, and after what he did to your father…"

"You mean this Philippe killed Giuliano?" Trèville demanded.

Louis raised an eyebrow but nodded.

When Trèville began to growl, Athos felt compelled to add, "And he has also been passing himself off as the Count de Fère."

"The man you captured, but not kept, in Auvergne?" Trèville seemed confused.

"Small world." Athos shrugged.

"Let me see if I have this straight. This Philippe murdered Giuliano, rounded up the factions of the Sons of the Sign, killed someone this man here knows-"

"My father." Louis supplied.

"My uncle." Elizabeth offered.

Trèville glanced at them but continued, "Escaped from my four best men, and is currently camped about sixteen leagues from here?"

"That about covers it-"

Porthos interrupted Aramis' comment when he suddenly exclaimed, "The North Road!"

The tent fell silent.

Athos coughed softly.

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes, "I've got this one." He turned to Porthos, "What about the North Road?"

"That's where I know him from." Porthos glared at Elizabeth who had the decency to blush. "Louis, did you know that your cousin introduces herself as you when she is disguising herself as a man?"

For once, Porthos had actually managed to reach a correct conclusion before the remainder of his friends. It didn't take them long to catch up.

"That first night, you introduced yourself as Louis." Athos stated rather blandly.

"When Porthos asked me for a name, it was the first to come to mind." She shrugged.

"Alright, are we all acquainted?" Trèville asked. "I assume this Louis is your cousin?" Elizabeth nodded. "Welcome to our camp, we're going to kill this Philippe."

"Good to hear."

"We aren't even going to attempt to capture him?" Aramis felt compelled to ask.

Trèville turned on him with a look that was mirrored by both Louis and Elizabeth. "This man murdered the best friend I ever had."

Aramis swallowed hard. "Just a question."

"When?" Porthos asked.

Trèville looked at the men gathered around him, "It will take us the better part of five hours to get to their camp, I don't plan on fighting a protracted battle, so the supply wagons stay here, we'll make better time. After that-"

"Monsieur Trèville." Elizabeth interrupted, "Perhaps it would be better if we made two attacks at once? The main one by your forces, and a surprise one to kill Philippe."

"After that," Trèville continued patronizingly, "you four Musketeers will infiltrate the camp and attempt to cut of the snake's head, if you will." He kind of rushed the beginning of that.

When the men gave her a communitive look, Elizabeth uttered a low, "Me dispiace."

The men waited for what they knew would soon come.

"Why are you all looking at me like that?"

The Musketeers exchanged a glance, but Louis beat them to the punch. "Hell, Liza, I heard it."

"Heard what?"

"The Musketeers will be killing Philippe, and I must say I'm none to happy about it."

Elizabeth turned on her friends. "You're not taking me?"

If she had sounded angry, the men might have been able to deny her the adventure. However, Elizabeth wasn't raised with four male cousins for nothing. Her eyes instantly welled up with tears. They immediately began to deny what had in fact been their exact intention.

"No, of course not," Trèville dissembled, "we simply didn't want to say anything since your cousin was here and we thought he might object to you being… put in harms way."

"So we will both be coming, Louis and I?"

"Certainly."

Neither Elizabeth nor Louis bought a word of it, but neither said anything about it.

"When will we stage this attack?" Aramis asked

"Philippe only returned to his camp today." Athos mused. "It will take at least a day to garner his forces and organize a move."

Trèville raised an eyebrow. "Tomorrow sound good?"

The Musketeers grinned wolfishly.

"I like the sound of it." D'Artagnan offered.

"We will leave here at sunset and stage a night attack. Jean!" Trèville called. A Musketeer entered the tent, "Warn the men to get as much sleep as possible tonight and well into tomorrow, we'll be leaving here at sunset." Jean bowed his way out.

"Anything else anyone can think of? No? Alright, get some sleep, I'll see you all back here two hours before sunset. Ask Jean to have some tents set up for you."

Elizabeth looked at her cousin but he shook his head, "I wish to stay and talk with Monsieur Trèville." At Trèville's nod, she left. Porthos and d'Artagnan were already speaking with Jean. She looked around, but no one seemed to want her attention for a bit so she stretched. A good long one that pulled a moan of satisfaction from her lips. She'd needed that for over a month. From the haggard looks on her friends' faces, they all did.

"Elizabeth." She turned to see Gustav trying to get her attention. She smiled at him. "I gathered these before we left Auvergne. I'd forgotten about them, but when that man, Planchet, searched the wagon, he found them and thought they were mine." Gustav held out Elizabeth's knives to her.

Her smile could have lit a room. "Thank you Gustav, that was thoughtful of you."

"Is it true that we will attack the Count- I mean Philippe's camp tomorrow?"

She nodded, "Tomorrow night."

"May I come?"

"Of course you may."

Gustav smiled and walked away into the camp.

"Do you think that was wise?"

Elizabeth stiffened at the sound of Athos' voice. "He has proven himself, don't you think?"

"He was one of Philippe trusted guards." Athos pointed out.

"He deserves a second chance."

"Do I?"

Elizabeth realized he had been fishing for that answer the entire time. She sighed softly and finally turned around to face him, slipping her knives into her belt. "Philippe can be quite… convincing when he sets out to be. I know that, I've fallen for his charm as well. But you…" she stopped. "You hurt me Athos. More than I ever care to admit"

"A chance to explain then?" Athos asked. "Give me a second chance. Tonight, before everything goes to hell tomorrow."

Elizabeth took a deep breath.

Athos held out a hand.

She took it.


	15. Reconciliations

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents._

**  
  
Chapter Fifteen: Reconciliations **

The tent was bare save for a lamp and two low cots. It was, however, spacious; enough so that even Athos could stand upright in the center. Elizabeth moved from the entrance to lower herself onto one of the cots, gingerly.

"Are you alright?" Athos asked concerned, moving to sit next to her.

She held a hand to her ribs, "They still hurt."

"I'd forgotten," Athos apologized. "With everything else that's happened, I'd have-"

"I know Athos." She interrupted, "That's why I didn't say anything."

He smiled ruefully, "I understand."

It was silent in the tent.

"Would you mind-" She jumped when he turned to her suddenly, but continued, "Would you mind looking at my arm, it aches. I think it might be bleeding." She faltered, "I'm afraid it might be infected."

Athos cursed a blue streak at himself and ducked out of tent. He shouted for a couple of items then returned. "I'm going to need to see the area." He gestured at her.

Elizabeth attempted to pull her sleeve up but couldn't raise it far enough. Athos sat again. "It'll probably have to come off."

Her eyes flew to his.

"The sleeve not the- the-" He waved a hand, at a loss for words at her assumption. She nodded and looked away when he drew his knife and slit her left sleeve to her shoulder. Aramis entered with a bowl and a stack of cloths and bandages. He looked taken aback to see Elizabeth in the tent alone with Athos, but had the tact not to say anything. He nodded at her, then retreated.

"It doesn't look infected." He said after a moment, then hesitantly brought a cloth up from the heated water, "This'll probably sting, a lot."

Elizabeth sucked in a breath through her teeth when the cloth touched her arm.

"My heart stopped, you know." Athos said softly as he was cleaning her wound. She turned her head to him. "When I saw the bullet hit you," He clarified ad swallowed hard. "I thought I'd lost you."

She looked away and remained so until he had finished and tied the bandage tight on her arm. He cleaned up and hesitated before sitting on the cot across from her. "May I tell you a story?"

She nodded, pulling her feet onto the cot under her.

"A time ago, there was a man, a nobleman," Athos laughed sardonically at this, "who met a woman, and fell instantly in love with her. No, not with her, but with her beauty, her fire. She convinced him that of all the things in the world, nothing mattered but her." Athos swallowed and bowed his head. "And the poor fool, he believed her. He married her against the wishes of his family. Later, when she fell from a horse, appearing to be injured, the man discovered that his love, his wife, had been branded- for stealing from our Holy Mother Church. Being the ranking noble in the province, he did his own justice and hanged her. But, then, she was still his love, and he could not stand to watch her suffer, so he left her there to die."

Athos looked up then. "She didn't. Years later, she came back to haunt him, threatening the lives of his friends, his king, the very foundations of his life. Although, with help, he managed to thwart most of her plotting, it was not without sacrifice. A woman, loved by one of his friends, paid the price of his cowardice with her life."

"What happened to her?" Elizabeth heard herself asking.

"Anne murdered her for daring to love someone she hated."

She shook her head, "No, the woman- Anne, what happened to her?"

"The man and his friends brought her to justice." Athos looked into her eyes before continuing. "Anne murdered Constance because d'Artagnan loved her. And she took who knows how many other lives… because I didn't have the courage to watch her die."

Without thinking, Elizabeth went to her knees in front of him, taking his face in her palms.

"I loved her," Athos choked out, his voice clogged with emotion, "I couldn't make myself put a finality to it, and she betrayed everything I was. And when he told me that you had betrayed me as well, I couldn't see reason…"

Elizabeth dropped her hands at the reminder and leaned back on her heels.

Athos looked into her face and the realization it him. He was in love with her. Desperately, madly and irrevocably in love. But could he tell her?

"That night," Elizabeth swallowed and tried again, "That night back in Auvergne, you said something I'm not sure you remember."

Athos lowered his eyes to the floor. "What did I say?"

"Right before you… before you… took me," Athos cringed, "you said 'for you Anne'." His gaze lifted to hers. "I've been wondering, wondering what meant so much to you to make you say that. But it was your revenge wasn't it, your revenge on her." Athos opened his mouth but she held up a hand. "Don't bother, I know it's true." She took a deep breath. "And I can't hate you for hating her."

Silence descended on the tent yet again, until Athos broke it with a whisper, "Could you… do you think it's possible for us to…" His composure shattered. He was going to have to risk everything. He dropped to his knees in front of where she kneeled, gathering her hands in his own, his head bowed. "I love you. I love everything about you. And I am forever grateful that God saw fit to give me a second chance at love, even if I abused it- abused you." He faltered and brought her hands to his lips, "I will always regret what I've done to you Elizabeth, and I could never- I will never forget you."

They stayed that way for a long moment; his face bowed over her hands.

Elizabeth could feel the tears sliding down her cheeks against her will. She didn't want to forgive him, it would be so much easier to carry the vengeance in her heart. But this was a human being in pain, and she could not turn away from him. He needed her.

"Athos-"

His eyes lifted to her face and his heart nearly broke at the tears he saw there. He hesitantly lifted a hand to wipe them away, but was instead frozen by what she did next.

Her hands lifted to his cheeks, and she leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, "I forgive you." She whispered, looking into his eyes. At his dumbstruck look she felt that she should reiterate, "I forgive you Athos."

Her face was mere inches from his, and he couldn't help himself when he leaned forward and captured her lips with his own. She drew in a quick breath, but it was he who pulled away.

"I should not have-" He began.

But this time, it was she who crossed the small space between them to press her lips to his. It was a kiss meant to seal her forgiveness, a kiss meant to heal; and Athos took it with all the greed of a dying man. Their lips touched, held, and lingered interminably.

It might have only lasted a moment, it might have been an eternity. Neither of the two could have told you one way or the other. But it was with deep-felt regret when Athos withdrew his lips from hers. "We should- we must stop now." He lifted her to her feet and gently maneuvered her to the cot. When she was lying down he leaned forward and kissed her again, "Sleep well."

He had reached the entrance to the tent when her voice stopped him.

"May I tell you a story Athos?"

He paused in his tracks, agreeing by his silence.

"When I was a little girl, I used to believe that there were things, hiding under my bed." She began in a small voice.

"I had old pairs of boots under my bed, what was under yours?" He quietly asked.

"Monsters." Elizabeth breathed softly, "Horrible ones with long arms and dripping fangs." Athos turned to her; she was laying sideways, not even looking at him. "I used to lie in bed, terrified, until I couldn't stand it anymore. Then I'd rip back the sheets and look." She paused, "There was never anything there, no monsters."

Athos smiled ruefully, even as a girl she'd been brave. He waited while she seemed to collect her thoughts.

She tipped her face up to his, "I don't want to lie here tonight, afraid of what's lurking in my bed." She held out a hand to him. "Stay with me tonight, Athos."

For the life of him, Athos couldn't think of a reason to refuse her. He knew better than to think she was searching for more than comfort, but he would not deny her it. He slipped onto the cot next to her and pulled her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. She fell asleep almost immediately; he, however, did not.

Elizabeth woke slowly the next morning. She was lying on her back and stretched languidly before turning her head to see Athos lying on his side next to her, his head propped up on one hand.

"Good morning." She whispered huskily.

"Only barely." Athos nodded to the entrance to the tent where the first rays of sunlight were just beginning to show. "Sleep well?"

She smiled and nodded, "I had the most wonderful dream…" She closed her eyes at the memory.

Athos didn't need clarification. He knew full and well what she had dreamed, and he also knew full and well that he was the cause. He might have been able to keep himself from making love to her in the middle of the night, but he had had no control over his hands when they began to roam over her body; first her breasts, then down between her legs. His body grew hard again at the memory of her heat and the way she'd moaned his name, even in her sleep.

"It wasn't supposed to be that way was it?"

Athos was startled out of his reverie, "What was?"

"In Auvergne, it's supposed to be different isn't it?"

Athos closed his eyes in silent remorse, again. "Yes."

"Show me?"

His eyes flew open. "What do you mean?"

"Show me what it's supposed to be like."

"Are you-?" He hesitated.

"Make love to me Athos." She asked him quietly.

He might have needed to be asked twice, but Athos wasn't about to let this opportunity pass him by. He rolled his body halfway onto hers and captured her lips, thrusting his tongue gently into her mouth. He groaned silently to himself when she met it with her own. His hands divested her of her shirt. Her hands skimmed up his back and he shuddered.

"You undo me."

Elizabeth began to shake. Athos looked as her confused, but then she began to laugh.

"I undo you?" she giggled.

Athos sighed and propped himself up on his elbows. "I'll have you know, it sounded very romantic in my head."

She reached up to run her fingers through his hair and pull his lips back to hers, "Leave the pretty words to someone else, Athos, I don't need them."

He felt his lips curve in a smile against hers. In one sentence, she had managed to banish any qualms he might have had left about what was going to happen. He heard her curse softly as she tried to pull his shirt over his head, then gasp as their flesh met. His lips lowered to her breast and he nearly did come undone when she moaned his name.

Elizabeth, for one, was in heaven. Words couldn't describe how Athos used his tongue, teeth and lips to pleasure her; and when one of his hands slipped between her thighs, she nearly arched off the bed.

"Athos-" she gasped, as his fingers plucked and played within her.

"Yes?" he raised an eyebrow as he lifted his head and watched her climax take her.

She screamed. He moved upwards to cover her lips with his just in time, never ceasing the movements of his hand. They certainly didn't need company just because someone thought she might be in trouble.

When she opened her eyes again, Athos had settled himself between her thighs and was slowly pushing his way into her. She groaned, but whispered "Don't stop" when Athos did just that.

He sheathed himself inside her and took a moment to marvel at the warmth and tightness of her. When he began to move, she was instantly with him and when he slipped his fingers between her legs again, she tightened around him and chanted into his ear.

"Oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord…"

Athos couldn't have put it better himself.


	16. What Are You Up To?

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents._

**  
Chapter Sixteen: What Are You Up To?**

Elizabeth awoke slowly. By the look of the light, it was well past midday. She stretched slowly; then realized that she was still draped over Athos chest. She smiled and settled back into his arms. They'd made love most of the morning and it was no wonder he still slept. She was surprised she woke at all. She was just thinking about waking him up when Porthos burst into the tent. Her eyes slammed shut in a parody of sleep.

"Athos! Have you seen-?" he started, but stopped at the sight of the couple lying entwined on the cot.

Athos jerked awake, then lifted his head to see who it was. "Kindly lower your voice Porthos. If you wake her, I swear by all that is holy I'll murder you."

Elizabeth bit back a giggle. She was already on the verge of a blush, her and Athos had only a blanket covering them up to his waist.

"I see you had a better night than I did." Porthos raised an eyebrow.

Athos dropped his head back to the cot. If there had been a pillow there, it'd been lost sometime during their tryst. He wasn't about to complain. "What's the time Porthos?"

"You've got about an hour before Monsieur Trèville expects us."

Athos looked at him pointedly.

"And I'll be leaving now." Porthos finished and ducked out of the tent.

Athos idly stroked his hand down her back. Elizabeth's leg was draped over his and she was using his chest as a pillow. He debated waking her, but rethought it when her lips feathered across his skin. He bit back a groan.

"Are you just going to let me sleep through the evening?"

Athos smiled to himself, "You're not asleep."

"You didn't know that." She pointed out, rolling on top of him and coming up on her elbows.

He reached his hands between them to cover her breasts. Her hair fell forward in a curtain around them, "Again Athos? Do you think we have time?"

Athos laughed, "I'm afraid this won't take nearly as long as I want it to." She smiled and their lips met.

They were late for the meeting.

Not by too long, but long enough for Trèville to raise an eyebrow at their entrance together. "Glad you could join us."

Elizabeth blushed to the roots of her hair- and much to the Musketeers delight, so did Athos.

Trèville continued from where he had been when they entered. "When we come within a league of their encampment, you five will ride on ahead to kill the leader, this Philippe."

"Five?" Elizabeth questioned. Four Musketeers and… she turned to Louis, "Sorry old boy, looks like you're staying behind."

Louis smirked at her, "I'm not the one who's staying behind."

Aramis clarified, "You're the one staying Elizabeth."

She turned on him, eyes and hands flashing steel, "I'd like to see you enforce that."

"Lizabetae Medici!" Trèville roared, "When I gave you your first lesson in defending yourself, what were you taught?"

Elizabeth quickly put away her knives and hung her head, "To only use my powers for good." Even scolded, she couldn't help but quip.

Trèville rolled his eyes. "You will not be joining the ambush, and if I had my way, you wouldn't even come within five leagues of the attack." He turned back to the map on the tale, "It looks like there's about six to seven hundred men camped over there, which gives us about two to one odds. But we're trained soldiers, whereas our enemies are mostly peasants, which should lessen the odds considerably."

"I've been wondering about that." D'Artagnan pointed out, "In a normal battle we would take prisoners, but this is a revolt from our own people."

"We will give no quarter. The men in this army, however ragtag, are traitors to the king, and therefore will be executed. No prisoners." Trèville declared.

"How can you say that?" Elizabeth demanded, "Most of these men are barely more than peasants, they don't know any better. Only that the institutions they live under are wrong, and one man is offering them relief from it." She was obviously still a bit upset over Trèville's decree and looking to fight over something.

"Desperate circumstances or not, they are traitors." D'Artagnan pointed out.

"What can be more shameless than for society to punish those whom it has goaded to the breach of order, instead of amending its own institutions which, by straining order into tyranny, produced the problem in the first place?" Elizabeth sounded furious.

"Well said." Aramis praised, a bit stunned by her eloquence.

"I'm not the first to say it." She demurred.

"Why me?" Trèville sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. "Fine, any man who asks for mercy will be given it. Otherwise…" he trailed off rather than finish, "does that work for you?"

Elizabeth nodded.

"I'm so glad. Are there any other issues someone would like to bring up, or are we ready to go?"

"I have an issue."

Six sets of eyes turned to Athos.

"I'm truly sorry to have to bring this up Porthos, but I'm going to have to ask you this question."

Porthos' eyes narrowed, "Yes?"

"You have a tattoo between your shoulder blades, where did you get it?"

Aramis looked taken aback, he had nearly forgotten.

"I beg your pardon?"

Athos sighed, "Elizabeth, what is the sign in the Sons of the Sign?"

"A triangle bisected by three lines from the center." She answered confused.

"Porthos," it was Aramis who asked this time, "would you mind taking off your shirt?"

"Yes I would."

"Do it." Trèville commanded.

Porthos grumbled but did as he was told. When they had him turn, everyone immediately saw what the two men were talking about. On his back was the tattoo, a falcon superimposed over a triangle standing on its point.

"Porthos," Elizabeth asked slowly, reaching out to trace the lines. Athos suppressed the urge to snatch her hand back. "Why do you have this tattooed on your back?"

Porthos craned his head around, "What tattoo?"

D'Artagnan choked back a laugh.

"It is possible." Louis pointed out, "He wouldn't be able to see it without a couple of looking glasses."

"And Porthos does drink a lot." Aramis was laughing.

Elizabeth met Porthos' pleading gaze and took pity on him, "Apparently you got quite drunk one night and some member of the Sons of the Sign marked you as their own."

"What!?!" Porthos proceeded to turn in a couple of circles trying to see the space between his shoulder blades.

"Do we believe that?" Athos asked his fellow Musketeers.

"It makes more sense, sadly enough." Aramis pointed out.

"Put your shirt back on Porthos." Trèville ordered.

Once he had complied, he turned on Elizabeth, "Quit laughing."

"You have to admit it's rather funny." She pointed out, "I mean, your friends have obviously harbored doubts about you for quite some time, but you were completely oblivious as to the reason. Porthos, that's quite nearly the definition of funny."

"It certainly qualifies as situational irony." Aramis remarked dryly.

"Ha, ha." Porthos intoned with a wealth of sarcasm. "Anyone else want to impugn my honor?" No one took him up on it.

"Mount up, we're on our way then." Trèville announced.

"Impugn." Aramis whispered to Porthos as they left, "I didn't even know you knew a word like that, nevertheless when to use it."

"You're just a barrel of laughs today aren't you?"

"It's a gift." Aramis shrugged modestly.

"Milady," Mosqueton caught Elizabeth on her way out, "I found these in your saddlebags. I cleaned them in case you might want to wear them."

She looked down at the clothes in his hands and smiled. "You're a lifesaver, Porthos is lucky to have you." She ducked back in the tent quickly to change.

When she emerged, she was wearing the pants and overcoat that Porthos had met her in. He let out a low whistle at the sight of her before remembering Athos' claim.

Athos pulled Elizabeth off to the side. "What are you up to?"

Elizabeth put on her best innocent face. "Why Athos, whatever do you mean."

"You barely batted and eye when Trèville told you you weren't going and now you show up dressed like this, so I ask you again, what are you up to?"

"Don't you trust me?"

Athos ran a frustrated hand through his hair. She reached up and took it, bringing him closer to her.

"Athos, I currently have no plans on defying Monsieur Trèville's edict that I stay with him. Is that what you wanted to know?"

Athos nodded.

"Then kiss me for luck."

"Here?"

"No, when we get back to Paris- yes here."

Athos couldn't help but laugh when he dropped his lips to hers. It didn't last long. The Musketeers could not let such behavior by one of their own pass unnoticed. The kiss was broken by a variety of cat calls and cheers. Elizabeth blushed.

"Damn Musketeers." She mumbled.

"I love you." Athos whispered into her ear.

She pulled his lips back to her, heedless of the men around them. It wasn't until Elizabeth was riding with Trèville and Athos had caught up to his friends that he realized…

She had yet to tell him she loved him.


	17. Capture and Confession

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents._

**  
Chapter Seventeen: Capture and Confession**

Alright, planning on making plans and actually having them were two different things.

Right?

Elizabeth knew she was just making justifications to herself as she skulked through the trees near the Sons' encampment; but seriously, no one had actually expected her to obey that ridiculous pronouncement. She had more staked in this than anybody, she was going to kill Philippe.

And anyway, when Athos had asked her she hadn't actually had any plans… yet.

Elizabeth sighed, cursing the full moon which made her tracking easier, while simultaneously making it increasingly more difficult to stay hidden in the thinning underbrush.

Ahead of her, she could see five all too familiar cloaks. She would be avoiding them, thank you very much. She trod a wide path around the Musketeers and silently made her way from tent to tent. All of them were that shade of cream that tents naturally seemed to come in; save one. A bright red tent stood in the center of the camp, at least three feet taller than the others.

"Philippe, you are so easy to predict." She muttered under her breath. She briefly held a hand to her ribs and then her arm. It was really amazing the amount of injury she had sustained in the past week. Not that she'd let it stop her. Of course not. But when looking at the greater scheme of things, she was also the only person in her group of friends to have any injury whatsoever; which was odd in itself.

She shrugged as she made her way towards the center of the Sons' encampment. It was simply her misfortune to have less than admirable luck she decided.

Upon arrival at the garishly colored tent, Elizabeth circled it warily from the shadows. It didn't seem to be too heavily guarded, but then again, no one actually expects a surprise attack in the middle of one's own camp. That's what makes it such a surprise. She nearly giggled at her own morbid humor. With a knife in her palm and her free hand on the hilt of the other, she slipped up next to the entrance to the tent.

With the hand holding the knife, she pushed back the flap serving for a door. Inside, Philippe and Henri stood over a table discussing something heatedly. They were thankfully alone.

"'Allo muffin."

Elizabeth spun, but not in time to dodge the fist which connected with her head in a blinding flash of pain.

When she awoke, Philippe stood grinning over her. "Evening my darling. Ah, ah! So quick to leave us?" He admonished as she struggled upright. "My dear girl you wound me with your impatience."

"If only." She mumbled. "It was a trap?"

It wasn't really a question, but Philippe answered her anyway. "Of course, dearest Lizzy, you are so easy to predict."

"Bastard." She spat

He tsked at her. "Now now my love, that's no way to talk about your future husband."

Her eyes grew wide. "You don't give up do you?"

"You know why I won't." He reminded her with a sly glance at Henri. Elizabeth was disgusted by his playful tone.

"When do the Musketeers plan to attack?" Henri broke in impatiently.

As fate would have it, the Musketeers chose that particular moment to burst into the tent. They made a good show of it, but they were no match for the dozen men Philippe had lying in wait outside.

"It seems history repeats itself." Philippe smirked at the men, "Although, I don't recognize one of your number."

"Louis, monsieur, my cousin has told me of you." He managed a mocking bow from his prone position.

"Ah, you are kin to Lizabetae here? Lucky you."

Louis raised an eyebrow at Elizabeth, "He knows?"

"My father could not keep a secret to save his life; in fact, this one cost him his."

"Secrets Elizabeth?" Philippe sat in a high backed chair, "You mean you keep truths hidden from your friends?"

"Some things are not meant to be known." She gritted out.

Philippe smiled, "Even your heritage, your family, who you are?"

"Lizabetae, Elizabeth, it makes no difference to who I am."

"And just who are you?" the words sounded as though they'd been pulled forcefully from Porthos' throat.

Philippe moved behind him to pull his head up by a handful of hair. He held a knife to Porthos' neck. "Lizzy, you have kept secrets too long, do you think they will acknowledge you when they learn of your family, the tainted blood you share, the danger you live in and have therefore put them in?" He pressed the knife until a trickle of blood ran down Porthos' throat, "Go ahead and tell them Lizzy, or I will cut his throat."

Her eyes began to fill with unshed tears as she began. "My name is Lizabetae dei Medici. I am the daughter of Giuliano dei Medici, of Florence."

Aramis' head jerked up, "I knew I'd heard that name before."

Porthos swallowed, "Elizabeth, I hate to say anything, but Philippe seems to think there is more to tell."

"My family is an old one, and wealthy." She continued, "Twenty years ago a rival family in Italy, the Pazzi, attempted to murder my father and his brother Lorenzo, hoping to gain by their death. Lorenzo escaped, but my father was caught on the steps of a cathedral- praying for sanctuary. Injured badly, my father went to his brother, but Lorenzo had found a chance to gain the Medici fortune and sent assassins after him." She swallowed hard, "The mere mention of my past is as much as a death sentence in certain circles. As well as anyone who is thought to also know the truth of my parentage."

The Musketeers sat in stunned silence.

"And you wonder why I will stop at nothing to have you Lizzy." Philippe drawled as he moved from Porthos, "With the Medici fortune, nothing could stand between me and power."

The first gunshot was heard.

"What was that?" Henri sounded alarmed.

Philippe's eyes shot to Elizabeth. She grinned, and it was all teeth, "You didn't really think we'd come alone again did you?"

"It doesn't matter. No matter the how many of your servants you brought along, I have an army they'll have to contend with." He boasted.

Elizabeth continued to grin, and it was then that Philippe noticed the Musketeers also wore self-satisfied expressions.

"What do you know?" He demanded.

More gunshots, closer this time and followed by the sound of men shouting.

"What do you know?" His voice had risen in pitch.

The sounds of a battle reached the tent, and Philippe had finally lost his composure.

"What do you know!?!" he shouted, grabbing Elizabeth by her collar.

"Did you really think you could threaten the king in such a manner without incurring the wrath of the Musketeers?" Philippe's eyes shifted to those in his tent, "No Philippe, I mean all of the Musketeers; nearly four hundred strong."

Henri groaned aloud.

"Have you made your peace with God?" Aramis intoned piously.

"We must run!" Henri demanded.

"Where you fool?" Philippe clouted him over the ear, "Where could we possibly run to? His eyes shifted to the prisoners, "Perhaps we could use them as hostages…"

"You'll have to be quick to get away with it Philippe. Have you the time?" Athos taunted.

Philippe growled and snatched a knife from the table, "You think you are better? Well if I must die, I will take at least one of you with me." He lunged at Athos and that might very well have been his end had not Elizabeth thrown herself at Philippe's feet, causing his knife to miss its intended goal. They tussled on the floor, an uneven fight seeing as Elizabeth's hands were bound behind her back.

From outside the tent, shouts and signs of a fight could be heard. A group of Musketeers burst into the tent, immediately taking down the soldiers and capturing Henri. Some of the Musketeers moved to free their comrades while others pulled Philippe up and tied his hands behind him. His knife was elsewhere. Once Elizabeth was free, she hurried to Athos' side where the knife stuck from his leg.

"It's a flesh wound." He tried to wave her away.

"You big fool," she sighed fondly running her fingers through his hair.

D'Artagnan cleared his throat.

"Go away." Elizabeth murmured before leaning in to kiss Athos.

Aramis and d'Artagnan rolled their eyes while Louis and Porthos stifled their laughter.

"That wound needs to be looked at." Porthos pointed out.

Elizabeth reluctantly pulled away. "Come my love, your friends call to us."

Athos' eyes widened but she didn't notice as both she and Porthos helped him to his feet. He grunted in pain when his leg straightened. "Do you intend to leave it in there?" he asked Porthos.

D'Artagnan stepped forward to pull the knife from his Athos' leg. He hefted it experimentally, "Nice balance." He commented.

Their rescuers had already carried Philippe and Henri from the tent when they helped Athos onto the table while Aramis went to find a healer.

Elizabeth held his hand, smiling down at him. "It's about time somebody besides me took an injury for the cause."

Louis guffawed and Porthos choked on his laugh. Athos was not amused, "I see I'll get no sympathy from you."

"You'll get plenty… eventually." She was about to kiss him again when Trèville burst into the tent.

"You!" He pointed at Elizabeth, "I thought I'd find you here. How dare you defy my order?"

Elizabeth rose and placed her fists on her hips, "You have no right to order me about monsieur."

Trèville opened his mouth to argue but at that moment, Aramis returned with a healer and another Musketeer entered the tent.

"Captain, the prisoner is saying things I think you need to hear."

Trèville waved him aside, but the man would not be side-stepped, "Monsieur, I really think you ought to hear this before the others do."

Trèville sighed, "We will speak of this later Elizabeth."

"Oh gee." She sighed sarcastically, "I just shiver in anticipation."


	18. The Son of the Sign

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents._

**Chapter Eighteen: The Son of the Sign**

"Come walk with me Louis." D'Artagnan motioned to the blonde and they left.

"Porthos," Aramis said when he saw the looks passing between Elizabeth and Athos, "why don't you help me gather up some of these soldiers?" Porthos acted as though he might protest, but was silenced by Aramis' warning glare.

"Of course, ahem, you two just… what I mean is…" he trailed off and followed after Aramis. Elizabeth choked back a laugh when she heard him say, "You are not the only one who can be discrete Aramis."

Athos patiently laid still and waited for the healer to wrap his leg before saying what was on the forefront of his mind.

"Medici? Why didn't you tell us?" Alright, that wasn't what was on the forefront of his mind, but it was a question he wanted an answer to nevertheless.

Elizabeth sighed, "You know why. I couldn't in good conscience put any of you in that kind of danger."

"You should have told us. We were in more danger by not knowing."

"Milord de Fère, you are not one to talk of secrets."

Athos couldn't help but smile as he pulled her closer to him, "Milord hmm? I like the way that sounds." He pulled her even closer until she was sitting on the edge of the table; their lips touched briefly before Athos' curiosity overcame him.

"Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

Athos swallowed but forged ahead, "You called me love."

Elizabeth sighed loudly, "I care deeply for you Athos." At his hopeful look she amended, "As I do for Porthos and Aramis and even d'Artagnan." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I _want_ to love you I think it's just…"

Athos jolted upright, "For God's sake, you've lain with me Elizabeth and you still-"

"I have lain with you once of my own free will, and once not. You'd do well to remember that fact Athos." She said, her eyes hard. At the hurt look on his face she continued, "I just have a hard time convincing myself to trust you."

Athos winced and turned from her.

"Give me time, that's all I need." She reached out to press a hand against his cheek.

Athos was on the verge of making a demand he knew he had no right to. Thankfully, he was saved by the entrance of his friends, and Monsieur Trèville.

"Can you walk?" Trèville perfunctory asked.

Athos looked to his friends but they simply shrugged.

"Yes." He responded.

"Then come with me, you need to hear this."

Despite his assurances that he could, in fact, walk perfectly fine on his own, Aramis and d'Artagnan insisted on helping him from the tent.

"Well?" Porthos said once he had fallen back to walk next to Elizabeth.

She ignored his waggling brows, "Well, what?"

"How'd it go?"

"How did what go?"

Porthos sighed, "You… Athos…"

Elizabeth raised and eyebrow, clearly stating that whatever had gone on was obviously none of his business.

The tent looked like any other, saving the fact that six Musketeers stood attentive watch around it. From inside, Aramis thought he could smell cooking flesh.

"Elizabeth, perhaps you should stay out here."

Elizabeth shouldered past him to enter. Aramis shrugged, showing he had tried. He turned towards the entrance and was nearly knocked over by Elizabeth making a hasty retreat, the back of one hand to her mouth. She shook her head at the Musketeers and nearly ran the other direction.

Athos made to go after her but was stopped by Trèville, "You have other duties."

He sighed and ducked to enter the tent.

He instantly understood why Elizabeth could not be in it. He had a hard time holding his own stomach and this was by no means his first interrogation. Time had obviously been of the essence, the means of questioning showed the results, as did Philippe. He was hardly recognizable.

D'Artagnan was patently ignoring the hot pokers and knives strewn about. He knew that the Musketeers who served in the capacity of questioners did not enjoy their job, but that did not make them any less good at it. He leaned over to whisper to Athos, "Remember what he wanted to do to Elizabeth."

Athos' eyes went instantly hard.

Trèville walked over to the prostrate form of Philippe. "Tell my friends what you just told me."

Philippe began to whimper incoherently. Athos was disgusted that a grown man could go from such overbearing confidence to gibberish servitude in such short order.

Trèville was not so gentle as Athos, he laid a hand on a wicked looking hook, "Speak Philippe, your very life may depend on it."

Philippe began to speak, most of it babbling nonsense.

"Slow down man," Trèville scolded, "Start with your most recent plans."

Philippe swallowed, "I was going to take my army to Paris. Once there, we would overthrow the usurper king and I would take his place."

"Treason!" d'Artagnan gasped.

Porthos rolled his eyes, "I think we've already ascertained that particular crime d'Artagnan." The other Musketeer had the good grace to look abashed.

Aramis frowned, "You call Louis the usurper king, but what does your plan make you?"

"As the Count de Fère, it would make me the rightful king."

Athos spluttered, for a moment taken aback. "I beg your pardon?"

Even bound to a table soaked in his own blood, Philippe managed a weak sardonic laugh, "You didn't even know your king was the descendent of the bastard son of a whore? The Counts de Fère were entrusted with the raising of King Philip's true blood. The current Count is the rightful heir to the French throne." He paused, "Wherever he is."

Four sets of eyes turned to Athos, but he was as dumbstruck as they. In his entire life, he'd never heard a word mentioned of such a thing. Surely someone would have told him if he were the heir to the throne… wouldn't they?

Quite suddenly, certain events in his life began to focus into startling clarity; most notably Anne's insistence that they be married as soon as was possible, without his father's permission. No Count for centuries had married so far below himself as Athos had- and he'd paid dearly for it.

"What do you know of An- Charlotte Backson?" Athos blurted out.

A strange light came into Philippe's eyes; a frightening cross between adoration, longing and betrayal. Trèville beckoned for him to speak and the words poured out in a torrent, "The Backson's have worked for the Sons since its inception. Charlotte claimed to have knowledge of who the heir was; it's through her that we know he is the Count de Fère. She disappeared years ago, we don't know what happened to her." He paused and coughed spit speckled with blood, "She is… very special. To us." He amended after a moment.

"Was." D'Artagnan corrected.

Philippe's brows drew together in confusion.

"Charlotte Backson was executed more than three years ago for murder."

Philippe took the news like a blow to the stomach. His body convulsed on the table and his eyes rolled back into his head. "Charlotte!" he whispered. Quite suddenly he went still.

"Jean-Pierre!" Trèville barked and one of the inquisitors rushed into the tent, but it was too late.

"He lost his will to live." The man stated simply after a time, "With as far as we pushed him, I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did."

Aramis shook his head sadly, "Even from the grave, she claims another life."

Athos was still stunned. If these Sons of the Sign were right, he was the heir to the throne of France. Anne's involvement with him simply proved it. If, and it was a big if, they had the truth of it, was he perhaps obligated to…?

His friends were giving him considering looks and he knew immediately that a wrong answer now would not only cost him their friendships, but quite possibly his life as well. In such cases, is there really even a decision?

"I am loyal to both my king and my country. Nothing discovered here today has changed that." He stated plainly. And it was true; he had given up his title of Count, by no means would he seek the title of king. In fact, the only title he aspired to at the moment was that of Elizabeth's husband. The other two might be much more easily acquired.

"Monsieur Trèville," a Musketeer poked his head into the tent, "Sir, are you sure we can't just kill these men? They're traitors for one and disorganized to boot; it's like herding chickens out here."

Porthos waved the man aside, "No worries my good man, I- as always- excel in all situations." Porthos shouldered his way from the tent and bellowed, "Alright you scurvy dogs, I want to see some order here!"

"What are we going to do about that?" Aramis asked with a nod towards the body of Philippe.

Trèville opened his mouth but Athos' voice cut him short. "Bury him head first in a shallow grave. Let Lucifer see him coming."

"You're not taking this too well are you?" d'Artagnan commented.

It was the first indication that Athos had that he might, indeed, not be taking any of this well at all. He was a man with no past in love with a woman with no future… actually, he felt that given the circumstances he was taking the whole matter into stride rather well.

"I think I need to have a talk with my wife."

Aramis' eyebrows rose nearly into his hair, "I salute the happy occasion- however hasty it apparently was- shall I congratulate the bride?"

Athos stopped his limping at the entrance to the tent and turned back to his friends with a roguish grin, his first in a long while, "You ought probably wait until after I propose."

The guffaws from his friends followed him nearly all the way to the tent he was told held Elizabeth. She rose when she saw him and they spoke simultaneously.

"I am the Son of the Sign." "I'm with child."

_"What?"_


	19. Happily Ever Afters

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents.  
_

**Chapter Nineteen: Happily Ever Afters**

"I beg your pardon?" Athos stuttered.

"What do you mean you're the Son of the Sign?"

He growled low in his throat. "I believe that my question is a bit more urgent."

"Urgent?" Elizabeth scoffed, leaping to her feet and planting her fists on her hips. "You call nine months urgent? And I thought it was pretty self-explanatory- I am with child. Now answer my question."

They glared at each other for a long moment before Athos sighed and began his explanation. When he had finished, Elizabeth sat back down heavily on the cot.

"What are you going to do?" she asked finally.

"What should I do? Storm the Louvre and demand the throne?" When she remained silent he continued, "I gave up my birthright years ago, I'm sorry if that disappoints you."

Elizabeth shook her head, as if to clear her thoughts. "Why on earth would that disappoint me?"

"Because you are Lizabetae dei Medici; without my title, I am not for you." Athos paused, "Unless that's the point, you don't want me…"

"Not when you're behaving like this I don't." she mumbled.

"I'm being serious." Athos snapped.

"So am I," she snapped back, "after everything I've had to put up with because of what I am, do you really think it matters to me whether you are a Count of the realm or a simple Musketeer? Do you really think me so shallow?" Athos shook his head slowly and Elizabeth snorted, "Good. Now, I think Monsieur Trèville should officiate unless you think Aramis-"

"What?"

"The wedding, silly boy. I am not having a bastard child, so you better do the right thing by me or I'll-"

Athos didn't hear the rest. Instead, he pulled her to her feet and kissed her.

When they came up for air, she smiled, "I wouldn't mind a proposal though, if it's not too much trouble."

Athos ran the fingers of one hand down her cheek, "I thought this was you proposing to me?" He winced when she kicked him in the shin, "Alright, alright, leave me something to walk on…"

"Athos…" she growled in a warning tone.

"Elizabeth, my dear Elizabeth, would you do me the honor of becoming the wife of Athos, simple Musketeer?"

Elizabeth sighed and snuggled into his chest, "I'll think about it."

"What!"

She grinned up at him, "I suppose you won't be so hard to love after all."

"You mean you still-?"

"I will. Just give me-"

"Time, I know."

"Don't sound so sulky- now who should officiate, Aramis or Monsieur Trèville?"

Athos laughed out loud.

It could be said that Monsieur Trèville was congratulatory to our dear hero, it could also be said that pigs flew… and both would be wrong.

Monsieur Trèville was absolutely livid at the prospect of Elizabeth marrying Athos.

"I won't have it Elizabeth!" Trèville was shouting, "He is a Musketeer for Christ's sake, do you know the kind of men they are?"

"Hey." Porthos said mildly.

"They are the most loathsome, drinking, wenching-"

"_Hey_." Porthos said with a bit more force.

"Barbarous group of men on the planet."

"_Hey!_" Porthos shouted this time.

"Except for the English." Trèville amended.

"Thank you." Porthos conceded, sitting back down.

"And Athos hates women, he'll only hurt you Elizabeth."

Athos' eyes narrowed and he only barely refrained from doing something irreparably damaging to the Monsieur. Mainly because Elizabeth had just leapt to his defense. "Get off your high horse. I know Athos is not the best of men, but in my heart I know he's the best for me."

"We can find you better."

"No you can't"

"Of course we can. With my connections at Court…"

"You just don't get it do you? I want him," she pointed one longer finger at Athos, "and if you're going to continue to be this way about it, you can go shove yourself-"

"Elizabeth!" Aramis jumped in.

"Don't stop me Aramis, this has needed saying to him for a long time. You, Monsieur, are a hypocrite, and if in doing so you're going to deny me my one chance at happiness, then I damn you for it." She turned to Aramis, "Would you like to officiate? Good. Athos, I'm leaving, I can't stand the company in this room any longer." She turned to go.

"I apologize," the voice stopped her.

"It's not me you need to apologize to."

Monsieur Trèville sighed and turned to Athos, "I apologize."

"There's no need," Athos smiled, "You've said much the same things to me before. My bride is simply over-sensitive," Elizabeth snorted at that, "it has something to do with her condition I'm sure."

Four male voices rose in astonishment and Elizabeth turned on her husband-to-be, "You did that on purpose."

"Would I?"

"Yes, you damn well would you-"

"Elizabeth!" Trèville roared.

"Yes?"

"Don't yes me young lady, how could let this happen?"

Athos choked back a laugh.

"Don't you dare." Elizabeth snapped at him. "I'm not sure I understand, do you want me to describe the process? Cause I honestly don't really want to explain to you how I got pregnant in Auvergne."

This was the first time it had occurred to Athos that that must have been the time it had happened, and he felt instant remorse. "Don't blame her, Monsieur Trèville, I for-"

"Forgot to take precautions." Elizabeth interrupted shooting Athos a glance that spoke eloquently on her opinion of his intelligence at the moment.

"Obviously," Trèville snapped.

Elizabeth looked down at her still slim waistline, "Are you calling me fat Monsieur?"

"Is anyone else of the opinion that we are going about all of this all wrong?" d'Artagnan interrupted.

"I beg you pardon?"

"Shouldn't we be offering congratulations, not prejudices?"

Monsieur Trèville blushed into his hairline before taking up Elizabeth's hands, "My dear, if you are certain about this, I suppose I can only give my blessing."

Whatever he whispered in Athos' ear carried a bit more heat, because Athos was seen to obviously flinch away on several occasions and the words 'castrate' and 'wolves' were heard quite clearly.

Athos swallowed hard when he finished, "I won't sir, and thank you."

"If you hurt her, I'll kill you." Porthos said more simply.

"You'll have to get in line." Athos replied.


	20. Epilogue: The Wish You Make

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents.  
_

**Epilogue:The Wish You Make**

"I hate you!" Elizabeth was screaming, but Athos had gotten quite used to that at this point.

"I know you do, love."

"I'll never forgive you." Again, Athos had heard this before.

"Probably."

"This is all your fault!"

Rather than pointing out her end of the issue, he attempted to placate her, "Darling, tomorrow, this will all seem like just a bad dream. We will be lying in this same bed, holding our child, and you will see that-"

"Argh!" She screamed, throwing the nearby water basin at him. Thankfully, Athos was quick on his feet and he ducked out of the room with a murmured "I love you," and left her to the midwife.

Downstairs, their friends had arrived.

"Things sound as though they're going well." Aramis remarked.

"As well as these things go, I suppose."

"She's…?" this from Monsieur Trèville.

"Tougher than old boots," Porthos cut in, "do you really think anything would affect that woman? No offense, of course, Athos."

"None taken, but you're going to need to apologize to my wife."

Porthos listened to the expletives coming from upstairs and shivered, "Not now though."

"No, not now."

"Have you thought of what you are going to name the child?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Elizabeth wants us to name her after her mother, Claudia."

"She?"

"Elizabeth has assured me endlessly that he will be a she."

"But if you do have a boy?" Monsieur Trèville asked.

"Well then, we were going to name him after you."

Trèville blinked a couple of times before replying in a choked voice, "I'd be honored if you did."

The room was silent for a bit before Porthos spoke up, "Don't you thinking naming some poor innocent child Monsieur Trèville is just asking for trouble?"

Athos rolled his eyes, "His name would be Raoul."

"Your first name is Raoul?" Porthos questioned.

"Quite."

D'Artagnan was dragging some chairs towards the table near the fire, "Shall we play cards to pass the time? I believe you have a few pistoles that are just calling my name Porthos."

"Humph, I doubt that, even my money is loyal to me my friend." Porthos joked as he sat down at the table.

"It will kill the time." Aramis pointed out.

"Just for a few hours, until the baby-" he laughed, "until Raoul arrives."

But by the next night, the child had still not arrived; and the upstairs of the small house had gone deathly quiet.

"What is taking so long?" Athos was pacing.

"These things take time," d'Artagnan attempted to soothe him.

Athos shook the comforting hand off and sat on the couch, burying his face in his palms, "God, this is all my fault."

D'Artagnan shook his head at Monsieur Trèville who looked as though he might say something he was going to regret later. "Tomorrow," d'Artagnan said, "this will all seem like a bad dream."

Athos opened his mouth to respond, but they heard footsteps on the stairs. As one, the group of men leapt to their feet. "Reverend Father, milady is asking for you." The midwife said, gesturing at Aramis.

Aramis locked eyes with Athos for a long moment before following the woman upstairs.

Long minutes passed without word. Then, they heard the cry of a child throughout the house. Athos hung his head in relief, tears welling up in his eyes as his friends gathered around him in congratulations. But neither Aramis nor the midwife had returned.

When Aramis did appear what seemed like hours later, it was with a small wailing bundle in his arms. He handed it gently to Athos who looked up to meet his gaze.

"Your son, Athos."


	21. Extras and the AN

_Thank you very much for choosing to read my story, I know it's an overlooked section at FFnet, but when inspiration strikes, an author can't choose the place (that sounded rather pompous of me didn't it?). I have a couple of comments to make about one or two things in my story. And then I have another chapter -one that was considerably altered- to show you; which is what makes this not a chapter devoted to an author's note my nifty way of getting around that particular stricture._

_The first comment I have is the use of the name Anne in Chapter Nine for Milady de Winter, although the novel names her Charlotte Backson in the ending and I use that name as well later. Athos, when he was married to Milady, knew her as Anne de Breuil, and therefore it would probably be the name he was more familiar with, and the one he would use. Later, he of course remembers her real name, hence the skipping around between Athos' mind and what he's saying._

_Secondly, the plot by the Pazzi family to murder the Medici brothers is a true story only recently solved Minus Giuliano's survival and Lorenzo's involvement; those were my own plot device. However, that specific plot took place in 1478, and I knew when I wrote it that it was in the wrong time frame, if only by a couple hundred years. It simply seemed better to me to use a real plot, however fundamentally flawed in timing, rather than invent one for Elizabeth to live out. _

_I would also like to apologize for two rather blatant bits of plagiarism._

_The first is in Chapter 15: Reconciliations (which was originally titled 'Make-Up Sex', by the way). When Elizabeth is speaking to Athos about monsters hiding under her bed, that entire little snippet is stolen and modestly rewritten from Judith McNaught's _Whitney, My Love_. I knew when I was writing it that it wasn't my idea, but at the time I couldn't for the life of me remember where I had originally read it, and honestly couldn't come up with something that worked better. So I used it, I'm guilty, but I'm not sorry for it._

_The second is in Chapter 16: What Are You Up To? Elizabeth's little speech about society goading and punishing those pushed to the brink of order is a nearly exact quote from William Godwin. Why doesn't Elizabeth admit to who said it? Because William Godwin was _born_ in 1756, and to prehumously quote someone is just weird. Yeah, I had a problem with dates in this story._

* * *

_**Notes on Chapter Nine**_

_This is how "Chapter Nine: Judge and Jury" was originally written. It starts the same, but about halfway, the tone changes and is drastically different from the current version. Some parts of this story that were cut from the current chapter nine can be found in later parts of my story in different context. I think they are anyway... maybe I cut those... anyway, read on and please, any comments will be helpful for future writings._

**Chapter Nine: Judge and Jury**

The endearment tasted like ash on his lips.

"Waiting on me Athos?" Elizabeth sounded confused. An actress through and through, Athos thought to himself. "How did you know I was coming? And how come you're free?"

Athos ignored the last question, the answer to that would be apparent soon enough without him needing to spell it out. "The Comte let some things slip, and I asked to see you for a moment."

"And he let you?" She shook her head, "That doesn't seem like him."

"Oh, we have an understanding now." Athos looked at her sideways, "You've led an interesting life haven't you?"

Elizabeth gasped and put her hand to her mouth. "I can explain-"

"How long have you known the Count?" Athos interrupted her.

"He was not a Count when I met him, Athos, simply a man, his real name is-"

"How long Elizabeth?"

"Seven years, but I haven't seen him in-"

"No more lies!" He roared, his temper finally obvious, "You've been playing both sides. Helping your cousins, it was a great story, or it would have been. Jesus, do you even have an uncle?"

"Yes, and he was murdered! Please Athos," Elizabeth was near tears. "I don't know what you have been told, or what you think you know, but I am who I say I am. Nothing more, nothing less."

Athos almost believed her, but years of bitterness had hardened his heart. "So you weren't sent to bring us here?"

"No."

"You're trying to seek justice for the murder of your uncle?"

"Yes."

"You and the Count have not had... liaisons?"

"No... well, yes, we've... but it wasn't really a liaison-" Elizabeth was trying to defend herself. What to call a few kisses shared? A moment? An affair? Lord, she'd nearly married the man, how to explain that? It wouldn't be easy, but Athos beat her to the punch.

"You've been his lover!"

"No!"

"Yes!" Athos was in a fury, and not Elizabeth, nor his friends, nor even God could have stopped him at that point, he was in too deep. He advanced on her, "You have been with him, you Jezebel. You have lain in his arms and felt his passion. You've felt his lips on yours and begged him for more." His voice was harsh with fury. Elizabeth wanted to deny it, but it would have been a lie, "You've craved his touch, and you deceived us."

"No Athos, please, you must believe me. I didn't realize-"

"What? That I'd find out, that your treachery would be discovered?" Athos backed her into the wall, "That I'd seek revenge dearest Lizzy?"

Elizabeth gasped in shock and Athos swooped down on her mouth. His kiss was brutal, ravaging. It was driven by rage, lust, and above all, jealousy. It was obvious how he felt. He took no mercy, nor did he expect a gentle reaction. He was not disappointed. Athos swore loudly and spit blood when Elizabeth bit down on his lip. He snarled, "You'll pay for that, sweeting."

Elizabeth's eyes were still wide with shock, but her voice was curiously empty. "You called me Lizzy." She repeated the phrase like a mantra as Athos looped the chains around her wrists over a sconce in the wall. "You called me Lizzy." She said it even as he jerked her head back and buried his mouth on hers again. His tongue thrust into her mouth, silencing her, and he prepared to pull back if she showed any sign of becoming once again violent. But she was surprisingly complacent. She hung limp from her chains.

"You called me Lizzy."

The words echoed in Athos' ears as he ripped the front of her dress open and he had the insane urge to tell her to shut up. What did it matter what he had called her. This was his revenge, he could call her whatever he damned well wanted to. He palmed her breasts roughly as he opened the buttons on his pants, then lifted her skirt to her waist. His hips pressed against the cradle of her thighs roughly as he leaned his head down to bite a nipple. Elizabeth gasped, and Athos prepared himself to hear her beg for mercy. This would be his moment. He'd pause, as if to consider, give her a moment of reprieve, then he'd snatch away her hope as she had done to him.

But she never did. The plea never came. She just kept repeating those damned words in his ear. His temper flared brighter. Who was she to rob him of his revenge? It was his right, she had played him for a fool. His lust, dormant for so many years, sprang to life. Here was the opportunity to take with his body what he'd been too cowardly to take with his sword with Ann. He should have killed that bitch, but this one here, this one was his here and now.

He poised his erection at the entrance to her womanhood for a long moment. Was he really willing to throw his honor, his nobility, his decency away for one slip of a girl? It would be a betrayal of everything he had once stood for. Could he take that last irrevocable step? Damn right he would. He growled low in his throat before pulling back to thrust himself inside her.

"I forgive you Athos." She whispered right before her scream of pain as he ripped through her virginal body. She sobbed, sagging against the chains that bound her arms above her head. Her body shook with it: the pain, the situation, it was nearly too much for her. It was only the knowledge that Athos had unwittingly called her Lizzy that kept her from losing her sanity. In all her years, only one person had ever called her that, Philippe. She knew well his power over people, his charm and charisma. She had fallen under his spell for months, done unthinkable things at his urging and had nearly married the man. How could she blame Athos for being as weak as she herself once was? She couldn't.

Athos' body went still. He'd felt the barrier he'd so callously ripped through. Of all that might have happened, this particular eventuality had never occurred to him. If she was a virgin, or had been at least, then the Count could never have taken her as his lover. Suddenly, all other things he'd been told came into question. They began to pale and lose significance. Athos dropped his forehead to press against hers, still shaking from her sobs. He had to be honest with himself. He might have hid behind a mask of righteousness at first, placated his conscience with it, but what it came down to was jealousy. Betrayal did not call for the punishment he'd exacted, he'd reacted in much the way a jealous husband might, then the realization hit him. He'd reacted exactly the same way. He was in love with her. Desperately, madly and irrevocably in love with an exasperating woman he'd known for less than a month.

Athos was brought back rather abruptly to reality when he realized he could feel every tremor or her body, from her head to her toes, mainly because he was still buried inside of her. He pulled back slowly and she flinched.

"I'm sorry my love." He whispered as he cradled her cheeks in his palms, "Please forgive me."

Elizabeth didn't smile, or even look at him as she replied, "I already have."

He groaned. "God I'm sorry." He pressed his cheek to hers.

"Athos..." Elizabeth began but faltered as his words hit her. He'd called her his love. Did he even know? Did he realize how much it meant to hear those words from him?

"What is it?" Athos lifted his head and looked into her eyes as he wiped a tear of her cheek.

Elizabeth swallowed, "My hands?"

"Hands?" Athos was confused.

Elizabeth looked up pointedly to where her hands were still encased in steel which was attached to the wall. "Yes, I'd really like to have them back if it's not too much trouble."

"Dear Lord!" Athos blasphemed, "Forgive me, I'd forgotten." He unlooped the chain and rubbed feeling back into her wrists. She blushed and Athos realized her state of dishabille, as well as his own. When her hands went to the buttons of her dress, Athos stopped her. "Let me fix it." He smiled without humor, "After all, I broke it didn't I?" He frowned over the tatters of rags he'd left on her bust. It would never be decent. Instead of attempting the impossible, he shrugged out of his own shirt and pulled it over her head.

Elizabeth wouldn't look at him as he tenderly tucked her into his shirt. "Better now?" Realizing his words he swore fluently, first in French, the German and finally a bit of Austrian. "Who am I to ask you that? God, Elizabeth, what I've put you through. I know you say you've forgiven me, but I don't think I'll ever feel good about myself again."

"People do stupid things..." Elizabeth began but stopped.

"People do stupid things..." he prompted.

_When they're in love. _"Nothing," She furiously backtracked, "it was nothing."

Athos wanted to ask her more, but felt reticent to push. He had no right to ask her anything, even something that simple.

She tilted her head back and met his eyes, "Athos?"

"Yes?"

"About Philippe and I..."

"Who's Philippe?"

"The Count, his real name is Philippe, I knew him when I was just a girl. Athos I want to tell you..."

"No Elizabeth." He pressed his fingers to her lips, "Don't justify yourself to me, I don't need to hear it."

"But Athos-" He silenced her with a kiss, as gentle as the others were rough. He caressed her lips with his own, and she moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck.

It wouldn't have mattered what she was going to tell him anyway. The door opened and Gustav entered. Athos' hour was up.

_As you can see, Athos and Elizabeth play much different roles in this chapter than in the version I eventually went with. It seemed to me that it was a bit too Disney. Elizabeth is too proud to forgive Athos so quickly, no matter her understanding of his motives. And Athos is too bitter to have noticed anything as inconsequential as her virginity. Had he, he could not have been in so deep a rage, and this seemed odd to me. If he was driven to rape, all else should have been irrelevant. Anyway, this chapter obviously didn't sit quite right with me, so I rewrote the end of it to the other extreme, and I believe that it works much better for plot and character reasons; even if it did pose an entirely different set of unique problems to deal with._

* * *

_Thanks again for the reviews and comments I've received, and please have a look at some of my other work. I may never be able to top _Sons of the Sign_, but I'm certainly going to try._

_And perhaps, I may take a look at Porthos and Aramis' lives between _The Three Musketeers _and _Twenty Years Later_. Don't hold your breath though, it'll be a while if I do._

_Update: In my original plan for_ Sons of the Sign_, it was to be as closely linked with the actual books as possible- hence Elizabeth's abrupt death in the original epilogue in order to conform with her lack of appearance in_ Twenty Years Later_. However, this saddened me to no end, so the ending is now more ambiguous. This has also given me leave to possibley write romantic entanglements for Aramis and Porthos ('cause really, I'm a romantic at heart) in my own AU universe where Elizabeth may or may not live. Aramis' story is begun, but still needs a lot of cleaning up... and a plot... and I still need to name the main character... and- you see the problem? Keep half an eye out for it but I'm making no gaurantees._

_-Brandyllyn_


End file.
